ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tancred, by Benjamin DisraeliThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Tancred       Or, The New CrusadeAuthor: Benjamin DisraeliRelease Date: December 3, 2006 [EBook #20004]Last Updated: September6, 2016Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TANCRED ***Produced by DavidWidgerTANCREDORTHE NEW CRUSADEBy Benjamin Disraeli[Illustration: cover][Illustration: frontplate][Illustration: tancred-frontis-p72][Illustration:tancred-frontis-label][Illustration: tancred-titlepage][Illustration: page001]CHAPTER I.     _A Matter of Importance_IN THAT part of the celebrated parish of St.George which is bounded onone side by Piccadilly and on the other by Curzon Street, is a districtof a peculiar character. âTis cluster of small streets of littlehouses,frequently intersected by mews, which here are numerous, and sometimesgradually, rather than abruptly, terminating in a ramification ofthosemysterious regions. Sometimes a group of courts develops itself, andyou may even chance to find your way into a small market-place. Those,however, whoare accustomed to connect these hidden residences ofthe humble with scenes of misery and characters of violence, need notapprehend in this district any appealto their sympathies, or any shockto their tastes. All is extremely genteel; and there is almost as muchrepose as in the golden saloons of the contiguous palaces.At any rate,if there be as much vice, there is as little crime.No sight or sound can be seen or heard at any hour, which could pain themost precise or the mostfastidious. Even if a chance oath may float onthe air from the stable-yard to the lodging of a French cook, âtis ofthe newest fashion, and, if responded to withless of novel charm, therepartee is at least conveyed in the language of the most polite ofnations. They bet upon the Derby in these parts a little, are interestedinGoodwood, which they frequent, have perhaps, in general, a weaknessfor play, live highly, and indulge those passions which luxury andrefinement encourage;but that is all.A policeman would as soon think of reconnoitring these secluded streetsas of walking into a house in Park Lane or Berkeley Square, to which,in fact,this population in a great measure belongs. For here reside thewives of house-stewards and of butlers, in tenements furnished by thehonest savings of theirhusbands, and let in lodgings to increase theirswelling incomes; here dwells the retired servant, who now devoteshis practised energies to the occasional festival,which, with hisaccumulations in the three per cents., or in one of the public-houses ofthe quarter, secures him at the same time an easy living, and thecasualenjoyment of that great world which lingers in his memory. Here may befound his graceâs coachman, and here his lordshipâs groom, who keepsabook and bleeds periodically too speculative footmen, by betting oddson his masterâs horses. But, above all, it is in this district thatthe cooks have eversought a favourite and elegant abode. An air ofstillness and serenity, of exhausted passions and suppressed emotion,rather than of sluggishness and of dullness,distinguishes this quarterduring the day.When you turn from the vitality and brightness of Piccadilly, thepark, the palace, the terraced mansions, the sparklingequipages, thecavaliers cantering up the hill, the swarming multitude, and enterthe region of which we are speaking, the effect is at first almostunearthly. Not acarriage, not a horseman, scarcely a passenger; thereseems some great and sudden collapse in the metropolitan system, as ifa pest had been announced, or anenemy were expected in alarm by avanquished capital. The approach from Curzon Street has not this effect.Hyde Park has still about it something of Arcadia.There are woods andwaters, and the occasional illusion of an illimitable distance of sylvanjoyance. The spirit is allured to gentle thoughts as we wander in whatisstill really a lane, and, turning down Stanhope Street, behold thathouse which the great Lord Chesterfield tells us, in one of his letters,he was âbuildingamong the fields.â The cawing of the rooks in hisgardens sustains the tone of mind, and Curzon Street, after a long,straggling, sawney course, ceasing to bea thoroughfare, and losingitself in the gardens of another palace, is quite in keeping with allthe accessories.In the night, however, the quarter of which we arespeaking is alive.The manners of the population follow those of their masters. They keeplate hours. The banquet and the ball dismiss them to their homes atatime when the trades of ordinary regions move in their last sleep, anddream of opening shutters and decking the windows of their shops.At night, the chariotwhirls round the frequent corners of these littlestreets, and the opening valves of the mews vomit forth their legionof broughams. At night, too, the footman,taking advantage of a ballat Holdernesse, or a concert at Lansdowne House, and knowing that,in either instance, the link-boy will answer when necessary forhissummoned name, ventures to look in at his club, reads the paper, talksof his master or his mistress, and perhaps throws a main. The shops ofthis district,depending almost entirely for their custom on the classeswe have indicated, and kept often by their relations, follow the orderof the place, and are most busywhen other places of business areclosed.A gusty March morning had subsided into a sunshiny afternoon, nearly twoyears ago, when a young man, slender, abovethe middle height, with aphysiognomy thoughtful yet delicate, his brown hair worn long, slightwhiskers, on his chin a tuft, knocked at the door of a houseinCarrington Street, May Fair. His mien and his costume denoted acharacter of the class of artists. He wore a pair of green trousers,braided with a black stripedown their sides, puckered towards thewaist, yet fitting with considerable precision to the boot of Frenchleather that enclosed a well-formed foot. His waistcoatwas of maroonvelvet, displaying a steel watch-chain of refined manufacture, and ablack satin cravat, with a coral brooch. His bright blue frockcoat wasfroggedand braided like his trousers. As the knocker fell from theprimrose-coloured glove that screened his hand, he uncovered, andpassing his fingers rapidly throughhis hair, resumed his new silk hat,which he placed rather on one side of his head.âAh! Mr. Leander, is it you?â exclaimed a pretty girl, who openedthedoor and blushed.âAnd how is the good papa, Eugenie? Is he at home? For I want to see himmuch.ââI will show you up to him at once, Mr.Leander, for he will be veryhappy to see you. We have been thinking of hearing of you,â she added,talking as she ushered her guest up the narrow staircase.âThe good papahas a little cold: âtis not much, I hope; caught at Sir Wallingerâs, alarge dinner; they would have the kitchen windows open, whichspoilt allthe entrÃ©es, and papa got a cold; but I think, perhaps, it is as muchvexation as anything else, you know if anything goes wrong, especiallywith theentrÃ©es------ââHe feels as a great artist must,â said Leander, finishing her sentence.âHowever, I am not sorry at this moment to find him aprisoner, for Iam pressed to see him. It is only this morning that I have returned fromMr. Coningsbyâs at Hellingsley: the house full, forty covers everyday,and some judges. One does not grudge oneâs labour if we areappreciated,â added Leander; âbut I have had my troubles. One of mymarmitons hasdisappointed me: I thought I had a genius, but on thethird day he lost his head; and had it not been---- Ah! good papa,âhe exclaimed, as the door opened,and he came forward and warmly shookthe hand of a portly man, advanced in middle life, sitting in an easychair, with a glass of sugared water by his side, andreading a Frenchnewspaper in his chamber robe, and with a white cotton nightcap on hishead.âAh! my child,â said Papa Prevost, âis it you? You seeme a prisoner;Eugenie has told you; a dinner at a merchantâs; dressed in a draught;everything spoiled, and I------â and sighing, Papa Prevost sippedhis_eau sucrÃ©e_.âWe have all our troubles,â said Leander, in a consoling tone; âbutwe will not speak now of vexations. I have just come from thecountry;Daubuz has written to me twice; he was at my house last night; I foundhim on my steps this morning. There is a grand affair on the tapis.The son of theDuke of Bellamont comes of age at Easter; it is to be abusiness of the thousand and one nights; the whole county to be feasted.Camachoâs wedding will dofor the peasantry; roasted oxen, and acapon in every platter, with some fountains of ale and good Porto. Ourmarmitons, too, can easily serve the provincialnoblesse; but there isto be a party at the Castle, of double cream; princes of the blood,high relatives and grandees of the Golden Fleece. The dukeâs cook isnotequal to the occasion. âTis an hereditary chef who gives dinners of thetime of the continental blockade. They have written to Daubuz to sendthem the firstartist of the age,â said Leander; âand,â added he, withsome hesitation, âDaubuz has written to me.ââAnd he did quite right, mychild,â said Prevost, âfor there is not aman in Europe that is your equal. What do they say? That Abreu rivalsyou in flavour, and that Gaillard has not lessinvention. But who cancombine _goÃ»t_ with new combinations? âTis yourself, Leander; and thereis no question, though you have only twenty-five years,that you are thechef of the age.ââYou are always very good to me, sir,â said Leander, bending his headwith great respect; âand I will not denythat to be famous when you areyoung is the fortune of the gods. But we must never forget that I had anadvantage which Abreu and Gaillard had not, and that Iwas your pupil.ââI hope that I have not injured you,â said Papa Prevost, with an air ofproud self-content. âWhat you learned from me came atleast from a goodschool. It is something to have served under Napoleon,â added Prevost,with the grand air of the Imperial kitchen. âHad it not beenforWaterloo, I should have had the cross. But the Bourbons and the cooksof the Empire never could understand each other: They brought over anemigrant chef,who did not comprehend the taste of the age. He wished tobring everything back to the time of the _oeil de bouf_. When Monsieurpassed my soup of Austerlitzuntasted, I knew the old family was doomed.But we gossip. You wished to consult me?ââI want not only your advice but your assistance. This affair oftheDuke of Bellamont requires all our energies. I hope you will accompanyme; and, indeed, we must muster all our forces. It is not to be deniedthat there is awant, not only of genius, but of men, in our art. Thecooks are like the civil engineers: since the middle class have taken togiving dinners, the demand exceeds thesupply.ââThere is Andrien,â said Papa Prevost; âyou had some hopes of him?ââHe is too young; I took him to Hellingsley, and he lost his


<title>Verdict, The Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description" content="Verdict, The script at the Internet Movie ScriptDatabase."><meta name="keywords" content="Verdict, The script, Verdict, The movie script, Verdict, The film script"><meta name="viewport"content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttype CONTENT=Document><meta name=ROBOTSCONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><meta name=distributioncontent=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><bodytopmargin="0" bottommargin="0" id="mainbody">

     <tdvalign="bottom" bgcolor="#FF0000">
The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

      <ahref="https://www.imsdb.com" title="The Internet Movie Script Database">
The web's largest
movie script resource!

           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">             <divalign="center">                <input type="text" name="search_query" maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical
        #         A        <ahref="/alphabetical/B">B        C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        G        <ahref="/alphabetical/H">H
         I        J        <ahref="/alphabetical/K">K        L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        P        <ahref="/alphabetical/Q">Q
         R        S        <ahref="/alphabetical/T">T        U        V        <ahref="/alphabetical/W">W        X        Y        <ahref="/alphabetical/Z">Z

Genre
 Action Adventure <ahref="/genre/Animation">Animation
 Comedy Crime <ahref="/genre/Drama">Drama
 Family Fantasy <ahref="/genre/Film-Noir">Film-Noir
 Horror Musical <ahref="/genre/Mystery">Mystery
 Romance Sci-Fi <ahref="/genre/Short">Short
 Thriller War <ahref="/genre/Western">Western

  Sponsor

<tablewidth="100%" border=0 cellpadding=2 cellspacing=0 class=body>
TV Transcripts
 <ahref="/TV/Futurama.html">Futurama
 Seinfeld
 SouthPark
 Stargate SG-1
 Lost
 The 4400

International
 <ahref="/language/French">French scripts

<tdclass=heading>Movie Software

Rip from DVD
 Rip Blu-Ray

Latest Comments
Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10
Star Wars: TheForce Awakens10/10
Batman Begins9/10
Collateral10/10
Jackie Brown8/10

Movie Chat
 <form class="yellbox"action="https://www.yellbox.com/addmessage.php" method="post" target="ybframe" name="yellform">  <input type="hidden" name="sub_username"value="imsdb"> <input class="yellbox" name="sub_name" value="Name" size=21 maxlength=10 onFocus="if(this.value == 'Name')this.value = '';return;">
 <textarea class="yellbox" cols=15 rows=4 name="sub_message" wrap onFocus="if(this.value == 'Message')this.value = '';return;">Message</textarea>

 <button onClick="javascript:makeNewWindow(); return false;"><imgsrc="https://www.yellbox.com/images/smiley.gif" width=16 height=16></button> <button type="submit" value="Post" onClick="returnclearMessageBox();">Yell !</button>
</form>

      ALLSCRIPTS

<tdclass="scrtext">
                                      "THE VERDICT"                                      Screenplay by                                       DavidMamet                                      Shooting Draft                               INT. FIRST FUNERAL PARLOR - DAY               A working-class funeral inprogress. THIRTY PEOPLE and an                inexpensive bier SEEN from the back of the hall.               ANGLE               A MAN's back FILLS theSCREEN. He is dressed in a black suit;                his hands are clasped behind him. ANOTHER MAN stands next to                him. The Second Man reaches behindthe First Man's back and                puts a discreetly folded ten-dollar bill into his hands.               ANGLE               These Two Men from the front. Bothsomber, in their early                fifties. They begin to walk down the aisle of the funeral                parlor.               ANGLE               The WIDOW. Awoman in her late fifties sitting by the bier                receiving condolences. The Two Men approach her. The First                Man (the recipient of the money)speaks:                                     FUNERAL DIRECTOR                         Mrs. Dee, this is Frank Galvin -- a                          very good friend of ours, anda very                          fine attorney.                                     GALVIN                         It's a shame about your husband,                          Mrs.Dee.               The Widow nods.                                     GALVIN                         I knew him vaguely through the Lodge.                          He was awonderful man.                              (shakes head in                               sympathy)                         It was a crime what happened to him.                          A


<title>French Connection, The Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description" content="French Connection, The script at the Internet MovieScript Database."><meta name="keywords" content="French Connection, The script, French Connection, The movie script, French Connection, The filmscript"><meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><metahttp-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttypeCONTENT=Document><meta name=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=ratingCONTENT=General><meta name=distribution content=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css" rel="stylesheet"type="text/css">

     <ahref="https://www.imsdb.com" title="The Internet Movie Script Database">	    <tdbgcolor="#FF0000">
The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb)

     <tdbackground="/images/reel.gif" height="13" colspan="2"><imgsrc="/images/logo_middle.gif" border="0">

 The web'slargest
movie script resource!

           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">             <divalign="center">                <input type="text" name="search_query" maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical
        #         A        <ahref="/alphabetical/B">B        C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        G        <ahref="/alphabetical/H">H
         I        J        <ahref="/alphabetical/K">K        L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        P        <ahref="/alphabetical/Q">Q
         R        S        <ahref="/alphabetical/T">T        U        V        <ahref="/alphabetical/W">W        X        Y        <ahref="/alphabetical/Z">Z

Genre
 Action Adventure <ahref="/genre/Animation">Animation
 Comedy Crime <ahref="/genre/Drama">Drama
 Family Fantasy <ahref="/genre/Film-Noir">Film-Noir
 Horror Musical <ahref="/genre/Mystery">Mystery
 Romance Sci-Fi <ahref="/genre/Short">Short
 Thriller War <ahref="/genre/Western">Western

  Sponsor

<tablewidth="100%" border=0 cellpadding=2 cellspacing=0 class=body>
TV Transcripts
 <ahref="/TV/Futurama.html">Futurama
 Seinfeld
 SouthPark
 Stargate SG-1
 Lost
 The 4400

International
 <ahref="/language/French">French scripts

<tdclass=heading>Movie Software

Rip from DVD
 Rip Blu-Ray

Latest Comments
Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10
Star Wars: TheForce Awakens10/10
Batman Begins9/10
Collateral10/10
Jackie Brown8/10

Movie Chat
 <form class="yellbox"action="https://www.yellbox.com/addmessage.php" method="post" target="ybframe" name="yellform">  <input type="hidden" name="sub_username"value="imsdb"> <input class="yellbox" name="sub_name" value="Name" size=21 maxlength=10 onFocus="if(this.value == 'Name')this.value = '';return;">
 <textarea class="yellbox" cols=15 rows=4 name="sub_message" wrap onFocus="if(this.value == 'Message')this.value = '';return;">Message</textarea>

 <button onClick="javascript:makeNewWindow(); return false;"><imgsrc="https://www.yellbox.com/images/smiley.gif" width=16 height=16></button> <button type="submit" value="Post" onClick="returnclearMessageBox();">Yell !</button>
</form>

      ALLSCRIPTS

<tdclass="scrtext">
<title>The FrenchConnection</title>
                                         Rev. April 26, 1971                 THE FRENCHCONNECTION                           by          ERNEST TIDYMAN and WILLIAM FRIEDKINDIRECTOR: William FriedkinPRODUCER: PhilipD'AntoniEXT. LE VALLONOpening shot - High angle on Lincoln along small bay withboats.Ext. Bar - Waist to full figure Pan Right toLeft.  Detectivecomes out eating pizza, looking around.  He crosses streetand stops against wall of impasse Michael.He looks O.S. left,His POV - L.S. of Lincolnbehind fishing nets.Waist shot of Detective looking and eating.M.S. of Lincoln.C.S. of Detective looking O.S. Left.Pan Right to Left with Charnier coming out fromFonfon withthree friends and they walk to the Lincoln.Pan Left to Right with Lincoln passing in front of theDetective.EXT. CAFE LA SAMARITAINEHighangle from balcony.  Zoom on Detective seated at thecafe, reading a newspaper.Cut on Lincoln along sidewalk of the cafe, then zoom back todiscover Detectiveseated.EXT. MARSEILLE STREETSLow angle from stairs Rue des Repenties and Pan Left toRight to Rue Sainte Francoise following the Detective.Pan Leftto Right with Detective from Rue des Repenties toRue Baussenque.Low angle between Rue des Moulins and Rue des Accoules withDetective passing by.Ext. Rue


<html><title>Pump Up The Volume Transcript</title><pre>Happy Harry Hardon - Did you ever get the feeling that everything in America is completely fuckedup. You know that feeling that the whole country is like one inch away from saying 'That's it, forget it.' You think about it. Everything is polluted. Theenvironment, the government, the schools you name it. Speaking of schools. I was walking the households the other day and I asked myself. Is there live afterhigh school? Because I can't face tomorrow, let alone a whole year of this shit. Yeah, you got it folks. It's me again with a little attitude for all you out here andwaiting for Atlanta. All you nice people living in the middle of America the beautiful. Lets see, we're on er 92 FM tonight and it feels like a nice clean little band sofar. No one else is using it. The price is right. Heh, heh. And yes folks you guest it. Tonight I am as horny as a ten peckerd house, so stay tuned because this isHappy Harry Hardon reminding you to eat your cereal with a fork and do your homework in the dark..Murdock - Mr. Travis, Louis Travis. It's just for a second.MrWoodward - So, I'll pick you up after your yearbook.Paige Woodward - Okay, dad.Mr Woodward - And no big dates tonight, you have to be well rested for yourHistory examtomorrow.Paige - Okay.Mazz - Yo Paige, anytime anywhere beautiful. Mr. Paige.Nora Diniro - Oh, Miss Paige Woodward arriving.Janie - So rich, sosmart.Nora - So perfect.Murdock - Cheryl, good to see you. You're going to see the principal this morning.Cheryl - Can you tell me what this is about.Murdock -We'll see. Excuse Misses Creswood.Luis Chavez - Yes.Nora  - Check this out.Janie - What is it?Nora -  It's this guy. He's got a pirate radio station. Hiss name isHappy Harry Hardon. He's a total sex maniac.Janie - Off course.Nora - He comes on every night at ten o'clock.Happy Harry Hardon - Okay, down to business. Igot my wild cherry diet Pepsi and I got my Black Jack gum here and I got that feeling, mmm that familiar feeling that something rank is going down up there.Yeah, I can smell it. I can almost taste it. The rankness in the air. It's everywhere. It's running through that old pipeline out there, trickling along the dumbconcrete river and coming up the drains of those lovely tracktones we all live in. I mean I don't know. Everywhere I look it seems everything is sold out.Annie -They say this is where the reception is the coolest.Johnathan - Then he'll probably live right around here.Mazz - Fucking Yuppies.Happy Harry Hardon - My dadsold out. And my mom sold out years ago when she had me. And then they sold me out when they brought me to this hole in the world. They made meeverything I am today so naturally I hate the bastards. Speaking of which, I am running a contest on the best way to put them out of their misery. Tonight wehave number twelve of one hundred things to do with your body when you're all alone. Now are you ready of the incredible sound of Happy Harry Hardon comingon his own face. Oh, my god, it's very possible you know. Oh, oh this is a champion one. I'm going for it. He's still growing. This... Yes, Happy Harry Hardon willgo to any language to keep his three listeners glued with Huwy Bluwy to their radios. But the question is. How far will you go? How far can you go to amaze anddiscuss the sensational Happy Harry Hardon. I mean. How serious are you? I ask you that. dear listener.Mr Woodward - Hi beautiful. You know I can't figure outhow you manage to get such greatgrades and you listen to that radio all night. You know. Tomorrow don't forget Yale interview. And I don't want you to look toosleepy. You know. Goodnight Sweetheart.Happy Harry Hardon - I'm getting a lot of letters here guys. Here. Dear Happy Harry Hardon, my boyfriend won't talk tome anymore. How do I show him that I really love him? Look, I don't know anything about these letters asking for love advice. I mean, if I knew anything aboutlove I would be out there making it instead of talking to you guys. So just send me stuff to box 20710, USA Mail Paradise Hill Mess Arizona 84012. Repliesguarantied. Dear Harry, I think your boring and upknocktius and have a high opinion of yourself. Course I'm you I'll probably thinking I sent this to myself. I thinkschool is okay. if you just look at it right. I like your music, but I really don't see why you can't be cheerful for one second. I tell you since you ask. I just arrivedin this stupid suburb. I have no friends, no money, no car, no licence. And even if I did have a licence all I can do is drive out to some stupid mall. Maybe if I'mlucky play some fucking video games, smoke a joint and get stupid. You see, there's nothing to do anymore. Everything decents been done. All the great themeshave been used up. Turned into theme parks. So I don't really find it cheerful to be living in totally exhausted decade where there is nothing to look forward toand no one to look up to. That was deep. Oh no, not again. The creature stirs. Oh God, I think it is going to be a gusher. This is the sixth time in an hour. Ohgod...Annie - He sounds like he chronically masturbated.Johnathan - He prides himself on it.Happy Harry Hardon - You see, I take care of it. Oh, or else I'm goingto explode. I just... Excuse me while I... While I... While I... Oh yeah... Oh yeah... Oh yeah, this is the big one. I'm gonna explode... Oh, take cover Arizona here Icome.Mazz - Any time now, man.Happy Harry Hardon - Oh God... Oh God... This is the best. Oh God yeah... Free at last, I'm beat. I'm whipped. It's quitting time.Gotta recuperate.Mazz - There he goes. Some time he's on for five minutes, some time he's on for five hours. That's my man.Marla Hunter - God, I feel so out oftouch here.Brian Hunter - We didn't move out here to stay in touch.Marla Hunter - And why did we move out here?Brian Hunter - Oh, because it's a nice place tolive. I'm making good money and I'm theyoungest school commissioner in the History of Arizona.Marla Hunter - Brian, you know what. The man I married lovedhis work. Not power andmoney.Brian Hunter - That's all right I still love my work. And I love power and money.Marla Hunter - Young radical Brain, you werealways fighting against the system. And now you are...Brian Hunter - I am the system, yeah. Is that a beer?Mark Hunter (Happy Harry Hardon) - Sure!MarlaHunter - Have you notice his behaviour lately?Brian Hunter - What about him?Marla Hunter - He's just so unhappy here.Brian Hunter - I'll go talk to him.<Brian'sStudy>Brian Hunter - Hi, what's up?Mark - I was just looking for some stamps.Brian Hunter - Oh fine, I got some right here. Sending a letter to one of yourfriends back east?Mark - No, I thought I might send away for an inflatable date.Brian Hunter - You know, one of these days you're going to have to watch yourselfyoung man.Mark - I love it when you call me young man.Brian Hunter - You know when I was your age I was in all the teams and a bunch of clubs. Look all I'msaying is that school must have some really terrific programs, it's very highly rated.Mark - Just save it for the masses.Brian Hunter - Mark, they've got twelvehundred students down there. Surely some of themhave gotta be cool.Mark - Look the deal is I get decent grades and you guys leave me alone.<Back at HupertHumphrey>Janie - Okay so who is this guy?Nora - I don't know, nobody knows who he is, but he really hates this school so I guess he goes here.Janie - But allthe guys that go here are geeks.Nora - Maybe not my dear! LaterJanie - Later?<English Class>Jan Emerson - And so then the logi cars questioned the fewremaining death spurs more and more they began to fade away until there was nothing left of them and they disappeared from the face of the earth.......... Hmm,pretty good hey? Leading with your heart, not your mind. I wondered if you would tell us what you were thinking when you wrote this?Mark - I just wrote it latelast night.Jan - That's obvious it's practically a night book. Mark, I was hoping you'd share your feelings about it. <Bell rings> Saved by the bell. Don't think If Ididn't read your composition it won't be read. Mark! We're looking for new writers for The Clarion. Don't be embarrassed of your talent.<Murdock's woodworkclass. A Happy Harry Hardon Tape blasting out of a stereo>Class - Morning Mr. MurdockMurdock - I'm not stupid you know.<Staff room>Creswood - This schoolis judged on one category only: Academic scores. The lesson of modern education is that nothing comes easily, no pain, no gain.Murdock <enters> - Excuse meeveryone do you want to listen to this, it's the third this week. It's unbelievable.<Murdock plays a tape with Happy Harry Hardon simulating masturbation>Jan -<laughs>Creswood - Jan! This is no laughing matter.<School Library>Nora - Hi!Mark - HiNora - You're in my writing class right.Mark - Right.Nora - Yeah I likeEmerson (Jan) she's pretty funky. <Nora look at the date on Marks book> Now you're in trouble!.... You owe me twenty five cents...... "How To Talk Dirty AndInfluence People" by Lenny Bruce. Who's he?... Any good?Mark - He's alright.Nora - Talk a lot.Mark - Not to much no.<Mark leaves and Nora looks down atchecklist of possible Hard Harrys'>Nora - Cute, but no way!<A ten o'clock show>  Happy Harry Hardon - Guess who? It's ten o'clock do you care where yourparents are? After all it's a jungle out there. <Everybody Knows plays> I don't know. Everywhere I look it seems that someone's getting butt surfed by thesystem. Parents are always talking about the system, and the sixties and how cool it was. Well look at where the sixties got them hey! Come on people now smileon your brother everybody together try and love one another right now!!! Now that was the sixties, this is a song from the nineties from my buddies theDescendants. <The Descendants play> I hate the sixties, I hate school, I hate principals, I hate vice principles!! But my true pure refined hatred is reserved forguidance councillors. Happy Harry just happens to have in his very hands a copy of a memo written by Mr. David Deaver, guidance councillor extrordinaire to oneMiss Loretta Creswood, high school principle. "I found Cheryl un-remorseful about her current condition" Bastard can't even say she's knocked up. "And she'sunwilling to minimise it's affect on the morals of the student population." Guidance councillors!!!!! If they knew anything about career moves would they haveended up as guidance councillors? What do you say we call Deaver up hey? Happy Harry Hardon just happens to have the home phone numbers of everyemployee up at Paradise Hills. Here we go, there you are Mr. Deesky <Happy Harry Hardon rings up Mr Deaver>.Deaver - Deaver residence, David Deaverspeaking.Happy Harry Hardon - Hey this is WKPS, we're doing a piece on high schools. We understand that your a guidance councillor.Deaver - I'm head ofguidance at Hubert Humphrey High in Paradise Hills Arizona. I've been there seven years.Happy Harry Hardon - Can you tell me a bit about what you do.Deaver -I run a comprehensive American values program, erm in which we discuss ethical situations, sex education and drug abuse.Happy Harry Hardon - What do yousay to young people who look around at the world and see it's become, like you know, a sleazy country, a place you just can't trust. Like your school for example.Why is it, it wins all of these awards and students are dropping out like flies, why..why is that. Now my listeners are interested in the decision to expel Cheryl


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Shadows in Zamboula, by Robert E. HowardThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost norestrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org/licenseTitle: Shadows in ZamboulaAuthor: Robert E. HowardRelease Date: February 25, 2013 [EBook #42196]Language: English*** STARTOF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHADOWS IN ZAMBOULA ***Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net                          SHADOWS IN ZAMBOULA                          By Robert E. Howard    [Transcriber's Note: This etext was first published inWeird Tales    November 1935. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that    the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]1 A Drum Begins'Perilhides in the house of Aram Baksh!'The speaker's voice quivered with earnestness and his lean, black-nailedfingers clawed at Conan's mightily muscled arm as hecroaked hiswarning. He was a wiry, sun-burnt man with a straggling black beard, andhis ragged garments proclaimed him a nomad. He looked smaller andmeanerthan ever in contrast to the giant Cimmerian with his black brows, broadchest, and powerful limbs. They stood in a corner of the Sword-Makers'Bazar, andon either side of them flowed past the many-tongued,many-colored stream of the Zamboula streets, which is exotic, hybrid,flamboyant and clamorous.Conanpulled his eyes back from following a bold-eyed, red-lippedGhanara whose short skirt bared her brown thigh at each insolent step,and frowned down at hisimportunate companion.'What do you mean by peril?' he demanded.The desert man glanced furtively over his shoulder before replying, andlowered hisvoice.'Who can say? But desert men and travelers _have_ slept in the house ofAram Baksh, and never been seen or heard of again. What became of them?_He_swore they rose and went their way--and it is true that no citizenof the city has ever disappeared from his house. But no one saw thetravelers again, and men saythat goods and equipment recognized astheirs have been seen in the bazars. If Aram did not sell them, afterdoing away with their owners, how came theyhere?''I have no goods,' growled the Cimmerian, touching the shagreen-boundhilt of the broadsword that hung at his hip. 'I have even sold myhorse.''But it is notalways rich strangers who vanish by night from the houseof Aram Baksh!' chattered the Zuagir. 'Nay, poor desert men have sleptthere--because his score is lessthan that of the other taverns--andhave been seen no more. Once a chief of the Zuagirs whose son had thusvanished complained to the satrap, Jungir Khan, whoordered the housesearched by soldiers.''And they found a cellar full of corpses?' asked Conan in good-humoredderision.'Nay! They found naught! And drove thechief from the city with threatsand curses! But--' he drew closer to Conan and shivered--'something elsewas found! At the edge of the desert, beyond the houses,there is aclump of palm trees, and within that grove there is a pit. And withinthat pit have been found human bones, charred and blackened! Not once,but manytimes!''Which proves what?' grunted the Cimmerian.'Aram Baksh is a demon! Nay, in this accursed city which Stygians builtand which Hyrkanians rule--wherewhite, brown and black folk mingletogether to produce hybrids of all unholy hues and breeds--who can tellwho is a man, and who a demon in disguise? AramBaksh is a demon in theform of a man! At night he assumes his true guise and carries his guestsoff into the desert where his fellow demons from the waste meetinconclave.''Why does he always carry off strangers?' asked Conan skeptically.'The people of the city would not suffer him to slay their people, butthey carenaught for the strangers who fall into his hands. Conan, youare of the West, and know not the secrets of this ancient land. But,since the beginning of happenings,the demons of the desert haveworshipped Yog, the Lord of the Empty Abodes, with fire--fire thatdevours human victims.'Be warned! You have dwelt for manymoons in the tents of the Zuagirs,and you are our brother! Go not to the house of Aram Baksh!''Get out of sight!' Conan said suddenly. 'Yonder comes a squad ofthecity-watch. If they see you they may remember a horse that was stolenfrom the satrap's stable--'The Zuagir gasped, and moved convulsively. He duckedbetween a booth anda stone horse-trough, pausing only long enough to chatter: 'Be warned,my brother! There are demons in the house of Aram Baksh!' Then hedarteddown a narrow alley and was gone.Conan shifted his broad sword-belt to his liking, and calmly returnedthe searching stares directed at him by the squad ofwatchmen as theyswung past. They eyed him curiously and suspiciously, for he was a manwho stood out even in such a motley throng as crowded thewindingstreets of Zamboula. His blue eyes and alien features distinguished himfrom the Eastern swarms, and the straight sword at his hip added pointto the racialdifference.The watchmen did not accost him, but swung on down the street, while thecrowd opened a lane for them. They were Pelishtim, squat, hook-nosed,withblue-black beards sweeping their mailed breasts--mercenaries hiredfor work the ruling Turanians considered beneath themselves, and no lesshated by themongrel population for that reason.Conan glanced at the sun, just beginning to dip behind the flat-toppedhouses on the western side of the bazar, and hitchingonce more at hisbelt, moved off in the direction of Aram Baksh's tavern.With a hillman's stride he moved through the ever-shifting colors of thestreets, where theragged tunics of whining beggars brushed against theermine-trimmed khalats of lordly merchants, and the pearl-sewn satin ofrich courtezans. Giant black slavesslouched along, jostlingblue-bearded wanderers from the Shemitish cities, ragged nomads from thesurrounding deserts, traders and adventurers from all thelands of theEast.The native population was no less heterogenous. Here, centuries ago,the armies of Stygia had come, carving an empire out of the easterndesert.Zamboula was but a small trading-town then, lying amidst a ringof oases, and inhabited by descendants of nomads. The Stygians built itinto a city and settled itwith their own people, and with Shemite andKushite slaves. The ceaseless caravans, threading the desert from eastto west and back again, brought riches andmore mingling of races. Thencame the conquering Turanians, riding out of the East to thrust back theboundaries of Stygia, and now for a generation Zamboulahad been Turan'swesternmost outpost, ruled by a Turanian satrap.The babel of a myriad tongues smote on the Cimmerian's ears as therestless pattern of theZamboula streets weaved about him--cleft now andthen by a squad of clattering horsemen, the tall, supple warriors ofTuran, with dark hawk-faces, clinking metaland curved swords. Thethrong scampered from under their horses' hoofs, for they were the lordsof Zamboula. But tall, somber Stygians, standing back in theshadows,glowered darkly, remembering their ancient glories. The hybridpopulation cared little whether the king who controlled their destiniesdwelt in dark Khemior gleaming Aghrapur. Jungir Khan ruled Zamboula,and men whispered that Nafertari, the satrap's mistress, ruled JungirKhan; but the people went their way,flaunting their myriad colors inthe streets, bargaining, disputing, gambling, swilling, loving, as thepeople of Zamboula have done for all the centuries its towersandminarets have lifted over the sands of the Kharamun.Bronze lanterns, carved with leering dragons, had been lighted in thestreets before Conan reached thehouse of Aram Baksh. The tavern was thelast occupied house on the street, which ran west. A wide garden,enclosed by a wall, where date-palms grew thick,separated it from thehouses farther east. To the west of the inn stood another grove ofpalms, through which the street, now become a road, wound out intothedesert. Across the road from the tavern stood a row of deserted huts,shaded by straggling palm trees, and occupied only by bats and jackals.As Conan camedown the road he wondered why the beggars, so plentiful inZamboula, had not appropriated these empty houses for sleeping quarters.The lights ceased somedistance behind him. Here were no lanterns,except the one hanging before the tavern gate: only the stars, the softdust of the road underfoot, and the rustle ofthe palm leaves in thedesert breeze.Aram's gate did not open upon the road, but upon the alley which ranbetween the tavern and the garden of the date-palms.Conan jerkedlustily at the rope which depended from the bell beside the lantern,augmenting its clamor by hammering on the iron-bound teakwork gate withthehilt of his sword. A wicket opened in the gate and a black facepeered through.'Open, blast you,' requested Conan. 'I'm a guest. I've paid Aram for aroom, and aroom I'll have, by Crom!'The black craned his neck to stare into the starlit road behind Conan;but he opened the gate without comment, and closed it againbehind theCimmerian, locking and bolting it. The wall was unusually high; butthere were many thieves in Zamboula, and a house on the edge of thedesert mighthave to be defended against a nocturnal nomad raid. Conanstrode through a garden where great pale blossoms nodded in thestarlight, and entered the tap-room,where a Stygian with the shavenhead of a student sat at a table brooding over nameless mysteries, andsome nondescripts wrangled over a game of dice in acorner.Aram Baksh came forward, walking softly, a portly man, with a blackbeard that swept his breast, a jutting hook-nose, and small black eyeswhich werenever still.'You wish food?' he asked. 'Drink?''I ate a joint of beef and a loaf of bread in the _suk_,' grunted Conan.'Bring me a tankard of Ghazan wine--I've gotjust enough left to pay forit.' He tossed a copper coin on the wine-splashed board.'You did not win at the gaming-tables?''How could I, with only a handful of silverto begin with? I paid youfor the room this morning, because I knew I'd probably lose. I wanted tobe sure I had a roof over my head tonight. I notice nobodysleeps in thestreets in Zamboula. The very beggars hunt a niche they can barricadebefore dark. The city must be full of a particularly blood-thirsty brandofthieves.'He gulped the cheap wine with relish, and then followed Aram out of thetap-room. Behind him the players halted their game to stare after himwith acryptic speculation in their eyes. They said nothing, but theStygian laughed, a ghastly laugh of inhuman cynicism and mockery. Theothers lowered their eyesuneasily, avoiding one another's glance. Thearts studied by a Stygian scholar are not calculated to make him sharethe feelings of a normal human being.Conanfollowed Aram down a corridor lighted by copper lamps, and it didnot please him to note his host's noiseless tread. Aram's feet were cladin soft slippers and thehallway was carpeted with thick Turanian rugs;but there was an unpleasant suggestion of stealthiness about theZamboulan.At the end of the winding corridorAram halted at a door, across which aheavy iron bar rested in powerful metal brackets. This Aram lifted andshowed the Cimmerian into a well-appointed


<title>Death to Smoochy Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description" content="Death to Smoochy script at the Internet Movie ScriptDatabase."><meta name="keywords" content="Death to Smoochy script, Death to Smoochy movie script, Death to Smoochy film script"><metaname="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type"content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttype CONTENT=Document><metaname=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><metaname=distribution content=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><bodytopmargin="0" bottommargin="0" id="mainbody">

     <tdvalign="bottom" bgcolor="#FF0000">
The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

      <ahref="https://www.imsdb.com" title="The Internet Movie Script Database">
The web's largest
movie script resource!

           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">             <divalign="center">                <input type="text" name="search_query" maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical
        #         A        <ahref="/alphabetical/B">B        C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        G        <ahref="/alphabetical/H">H
         I        J        <ahref="/alphabetical/K">K        L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        P        <ahref="/alphabetical/Q">Q
         R        S        <ahref="/alphabetical/T">T        U        V        <ahref="/alphabetical/W">W        X        Y        <ahref="/alphabetical/Z">Z

Genre
 Action Adventure <ahref="/genre/Animation">Animation
 Comedy Crime <ahref="/genre/Drama">Drama
 Family Fantasy <ahref="/genre/Film-Noir">Film-Noir
 Horror Musical <ahref="/genre/Mystery">Mystery
 Romance Sci-Fi <ahref="/genre/Short">Short
 Thriller War <ahref="/genre/Western">Western

  Sponsor

<tablewidth="100%" border=0 cellpadding=2 cellspacing=0 class=body>
TV Transcripts
 <ahref="/TV/Futurama.html">Futurama
 Seinfeld
 SouthPark
 Stargate SG-1
 Lost
 The 4400

International
 <ahref="/language/French">French scripts

<tdclass=heading>Movie Software

Rip from DVD
 Rip Blu-Ray

Latest Comments
Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10
Star Wars: TheForce Awakens10/10
Batman Begins9/10
Collateral10/10
Jackie Brown8/10

Movie Chat
 <form class="yellbox"action="https://www.yellbox.com/addmessage.php" method="post" target="ybframe" name="yellform">  <input type="hidden" name="sub_username"value="imsdb"> <input class="yellbox" name="sub_name" value="Name" size=21 maxlength=10 onFocus="if(this.value == 'Name')this.value = '';return;">
 <textarea class="yellbox" cols=15 rows=4 name="sub_message" wrap onFocus="if(this.value == 'Message')this.value = '';return;">Message</textarea>

 <button onClick="javascript:makeNewWindow(); return false;"><imgsrc="https://www.yellbox.com/images/smiley.gif" width=16 height=16></button> <button type="submit" value="Post" onClick="returnclearMessageBox();">Yell !</button>
</form>

      ALLSCRIPTS

DEATH TOSMOOCHY           by      Adam Resnick      December 2000       Early Draft   FOR EDUCATIONAL    PURPOSES ONLYBEGINCREDITSEXT. KIDNET STUDIO -C - EVENINGA man in a puffy foam-rubber rhinoceros costume dancingunder the bright friendly lights of atelevision studio.Another rhino and various foam-rubber animals dancebehind him to the happy MUSIC. The rhino finishes hisnumber and takes a bow. A bleacherfull of kids burstsinto wild applause.INT. BACKSTAGE - MOMENTS LATERAfter the taping. The rhino lumbers down the hallwaytoward wardrobe. He issuddenly grabbed by two large menand dragged out through the exit into...INT. DARK PARKING GARAGE... where several   thugs in overcoats emergefrom theshadows and start   beating him with lead pipes. One ofthe men pulls out   a GUN and SHOOTS the rhino severaltimes. The SHOTS    REVERBERATEthrough the empty garage.FINAL CREDIT:                                       CUT TO BLACK:SUPERIMPOSE:    ONE YEAR EARLIERFADEUP ON:INT. TELEVISION STUDIO - DAYIt's the taping of another children's show -- "RainbowRandolph and the Krinkle Kids." RANDOLPH SMILEY,aclean-cut man with a happy face and yellow bow tie,dances through Rainbowland with the "Krinkle Kids"(little people in top hats). He sings one of hissignaturesongs: "Friends Come In All Sizes." One ofthe main Krinkle Kids -- ANGELO PIKE -- dancesbehindhim.                         RANDOLPH                 (singing)          'Friends come in all sizes          That's a fact! It's True!          All colors of the


<title>Synecdoche, New York Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description" content="Synecdoche, New York script at the Internet MovieScript Database."><meta name="keywords" content="Synecdoche, New York script, Synecdoche, New York movie script, Synecdoche, New York filmscript"><meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><metahttp-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttypeCONTENT=Document><meta name=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=ratingCONTENT=General><meta name=distribution content=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css" rel="stylesheet"type="text/css">

     <ahref="https://www.imsdb.com" title="The Internet Movie Script Database">	    <tdbgcolor="#FF0000">
The Internet Movie Script Database (IMSDb)

     <tdbackground="/images/reel.gif" height="13" colspan="2"><imgsrc="/images/logo_middle.gif" border="0">

 The web'slargest
movie script resource!

           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">             <divalign="center">                <input type="text" name="search_query" maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical
        #         A        <ahref="/alphabetical/B">B        C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        G        <ahref="/alphabetical/H">H
         I        J        <ahref="/alphabetical/K">K        L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        P        <ahref="/alphabetical/Q">Q
         R        S        <ahref="/alphabetical/T">T        U        V        <ahref="/alphabetical/W">W        X        Y        <ahref="/alphabetical/Z">Z

Genre
 Action Adventure <ahref="/genre/Animation">Animation
 Comedy Crime <ahref="/genre/Drama">Drama
 Family Fantasy <ahref="/genre/Film-Noir">Film-Noir
 Horror Musical <ahref="/genre/Mystery">Mystery
 Romance Sci-Fi <ahref="/genre/Short">Short
 Thriller War <ahref="/genre/Western">Western

  Sponsor

<tablewidth="100%" border=0 cellpadding=2 cellspacing=0 class=body>
TV Transcripts
 <ahref="/TV/Futurama.html">Futurama
 Seinfeld
 SouthPark
 Stargate SG-1
 Lost
 The 4400

International
 <ahref="/language/French">French scripts

<tdclass=heading>Movie Software

Rip from DVD
 Rip Blu-Ray

Latest Comments
Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10
Star Wars: TheForce Awakens10/10
Batman Begins9/10
Collateral10/10
Jackie Brown8/10

Movie Chat
 <form class="yellbox"action="https://www.yellbox.com/addmessage.php" method="post" target="ybframe" name="yellform">  <input type="hidden" name="sub_username"value="imsdb"> <input class="yellbox" name="sub_name" value="Name" size=21 maxlength=10 onFocus="if(this.value == 'Name')this.value = '';return;">
 <textarea class="yellbox" cols=15 rows=4 name="sub_message" wrap onFocus="if(this.value == 'Message')this.value = '';return;">Message</textarea>

 <button onClick="javascript:makeNewWindow(); return false;"><imgsrc="https://www.yellbox.com/images/smiley.gif" width=16 height=16></button> <button type="submit" value="Post" onClick="returnclearMessageBox();">Yell !</button>
</form>

      ALLSCRIPTS

<tdclass="scrtext">
                          SYNECDOCHE, NEW YORK                               Written by                            CharlieKaufman                              SYN, NY - GOLDENROD REVISIONS - JULY 30, 2007.          A1INT. CADEN AND ADELE'SBEDROOM - FALL 2005 - MORNING A1          Darkness. The sound of a radio and pots and pans clanging          fades in. Caden, 40, opens his eyes in bed,and groggily          looks at himself in the bureau mirror. The bedside clock          reads 7:45.          1 INT. CADEN AND ADELE'S KITCHEN - FALL 2005 -SAME1          Adele, 40, in t-shirt and sweats, mixes a bowl of instant          oatmeal, puts it in the microwave.          RADIO VOICE          ... aLabor Day luncheon today --          OLIVE (O.S.) RADIO VOICE          Mommy! Done! -- at Stuckey Hall --          ADELERADIOVOICE          Okay!-- in downtown Schenectady --          Adele leaves the kitchen. Caden, also 40, enters as she's          leaving. He's dressed in a rattyterrycloth robe.          CADENADELE          Morning. Morning. Tried not to wake          you.          CADEN          Thanks. You didn't. I was just--          As Caden's voice goes under, we follow Adele into --          2 INT. CADEN AND ADELE'S BATHROOM - FALL 2005 - CONTINUOUS 2          Olive,4, sits on the toilet. Adele enters, rips some toilet          paper off the roll and proceeds to wipe Olive. The phone          rings in the


<title>Bad Teacher Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description" content="Bad Teacher script at the Internet Movie ScriptDatabase."><meta name="keywords" content="Bad Teacher script, Bad Teacher movie script, Bad Teacher film script"><meta name="viewport"content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttype CONTENT=Document><meta name=ROBOTSCONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><meta name=distributioncontent=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><bodytopmargin="0" bottommargin="0" id="mainbody">

     <tdvalign="bottom" bgcolor="#FF0000">
The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

      <ahref="https://www.imsdb.com" title="The Internet Movie Script Database">
The web's largest
movie script resource!

           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">             <divalign="center">                <input type="text" name="search_query" maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical
        #         A        <ahref="/alphabetical/B">B        C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        G        <ahref="/alphabetical/H">H
         I        J        <ahref="/alphabetical/K">K        L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        P        <ahref="/alphabetical/Q">Q
         R        S        <ahref="/alphabetical/T">T        U        V        <ahref="/alphabetical/W">W        X        Y        <ahref="/alphabetical/Z">Z

Genre
 Action Adventure <ahref="/genre/Animation">Animation
 Comedy Crime <ahref="/genre/Drama">Drama
 Family Fantasy <ahref="/genre/Film-Noir">Film-Noir
 Horror Musical <ahref="/genre/Mystery">Mystery
 Romance Sci-Fi <ahref="/genre/Short">Short
 Thriller War <ahref="/genre/Western">Western

  Sponsor

<tablewidth="100%" border=0 cellpadding=2 cellspacing=0 class=body>
TV Transcripts
 <ahref="/TV/Futurama.html">Futurama
 Seinfeld
 SouthPark
 Stargate SG-1
 Lost
 The 4400

International
 <ahref="/language/French">French scripts

<tdclass=heading>Movie Software

Rip from DVD
 Rip Blu-Ray

Latest Comments
Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10
Star Wars: TheForce Awakens10/10
Batman Begins9/10
Collateral10/10
Jackie Brown8/10

Movie Chat
 <form class="yellbox"action="https://www.yellbox.com/addmessage.php" method="post" target="ybframe" name="yellform">  <input type="hidden" name="sub_username"value="imsdb"> <input class="yellbox" name="sub_name" value="Name" size=21 maxlength=10 onFocus="if(this.value == 'Name')this.value = '';return;">
 <textarea class="yellbox" cols=15 rows=4 name="sub_message" wrap onFocus="if(this.value == 'Message')this.value = '';return;">Message</textarea>

 <button onClick="javascript:makeNewWindow(); return false;"><imgsrc="https://www.yellbox.com/images/smiley.gif" width=16 height=16></button> <button type="submit" value="Post" onClick="returnclearMessageBox();">Yell !</button>
</form>

      ALLSCRIPTS

<tdclass="scrtext">
                                  BAD TEACHER                                  Written by                        Lee Eisenberg & GeneStupnitsky                                                    June 6, 2008                                                  FADE IN:          EXT. JOHN ADAMS MIDDLE SCHOOL- DAY          To establish.          A school marquee with removable plastic letters reads,          "GOOD LUCK WITH FINALS!" A JANITOR opens the glassand          starts removing the letters.          INT. TEACHER'S LOUNGE - DAY          POP! A Champagne cork hits the ceiling.          TEACHERS whorarely get to drink at work, jockey for          position, holding out their plastic flutes. (Note:          female teachers outnumber male teachers12:1.)          PRINCIPAL WALLY SNUR, 40s, balding, faces the teachers.          He has a habit of blinking hard before speaking.                         PRINCIPALSNUR          Well, it's been another great year here          at JAMS. Who can forget Mr. Pinkus'          haunted classroom? Sandy, thank you.          SANDYPINKUS, 40s, sporting a ponytail, smiles, clearly          enjoying the small compliment.                         SANDY          I ain't afraid of noghost.          The other teachers laugh.                         PRINCIPAL SNUR          Or the wild success of...          VOICE (O.C.)          Wally, canI just say one quick thing?          Wally turns to AMY SQUIRREL, late 20s, cute and          wholesome. Any trace of sexuality she might have is          wiped awayby her adult pigtails. She treats students          and adults alike -- like students.                         AMY          Just wanted to remind everyone the


<title>Sessions, The Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description" content="Sessions, The script at the Internet Movie ScriptDatabase."><meta name="keywords" content="Sessions, The script, Sessions, The movie script, Sessions, The film script"><meta name="viewport"content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttype CONTENT=Document><meta name=ROBOTSCONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><meta name=distributioncontent=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><bodytopmargin="0" bottommargin="0" id="mainbody">

     <tdvalign="bottom" bgcolor="#FF0000">
The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

      <ahref="https://www.imsdb.com" title="The Internet Movie Script Database">
The web's largest
movie script resource!

           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">             <divalign="center">                <input type="text" name="search_query" maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical
        #         A        <ahref="/alphabetical/B">B        C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        G        <ahref="/alphabetical/H">H
         I        J        <ahref="/alphabetical/K">K        L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        P        <ahref="/alphabetical/Q">Q
         R        S        <ahref="/alphabetical/T">T        U        V        <ahref="/alphabetical/W">W        X        Y        <ahref="/alphabetical/Z">Z

Genre
 Action Adventure <ahref="/genre/Animation">Animation
 Comedy Crime <ahref="/genre/Drama">Drama
 Family Fantasy <ahref="/genre/Film-Noir">Film-Noir
 Horror Musical <ahref="/genre/Mystery">Mystery
 Romance Sci-Fi <ahref="/genre/Short">Short
 Thriller War <ahref="/genre/Western">Western

  Sponsor

<tablewidth="100%" border=0 cellpadding=2 cellspacing=0 class=body>
TV Transcripts
 <ahref="/TV/Futurama.html">Futurama
 Seinfeld
 SouthPark
 Stargate SG-1
 Lost
 The 4400

International
 <ahref="/language/French">French scripts

<tdclass=heading>Movie Software

Rip from DVD
 Rip Blu-Ray

Latest Comments
Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10
Star Wars: TheForce Awakens10/10
Batman Begins9/10
Collateral10/10
Jackie Brown8/10

Movie Chat
 <form class="yellbox"action="https://www.yellbox.com/addmessage.php" method="post" target="ybframe" name="yellform">  <input type="hidden" name="sub_username"value="imsdb"> <input class="yellbox" name="sub_name" value="Name" size=21 maxlength=10 onFocus="if(this.value == 'Name')this.value = '';return;">
 <textarea class="yellbox" cols=15 rows=4 name="sub_message" wrap onFocus="if(this.value == 'Message')this.value = '';return;">Message</textarea>

 <button onClick="javascript:makeNewWindow(); return false;"><imgsrc="https://www.yellbox.com/images/smiley.gif" width=16 height=16></button> <button type="submit" value="Post" onClick="returnclearMessageBox();">Yell !</button>
</form>

      ALLSCRIPTS

<tdclass="scrtext">
                           THE SESSIONS                     (formerly The Surrogate)                            Written by                            BenLewin                                             Based On A True Story    EXT.   BERKELEY,CALIFORNIA.   DAY1                                                                 1    SUBTITLE Berkeley, California -1981-    DISSOLVE TO ACTUAL TVNEWS FOOTAGE FROM 1981    A busy intersection near the UC Berkeley campus. A strange,    self-propelled motorized gurney whirrs into view andmakes    its way over a pedestrian crosswalk. The passenger, MARK    O'BRIEN, in his early 30s, is visible only from the neck up.    The rest of him is covered by ablanket. He operates the    gurney with a mouth control and a set of mirrors positioned    around his head.                          NEWS REPORTER(V.O.)               Mark O'Brien has been going to UC               Berkeley since 1978. That's O'Brien               in the motorized gurney headingfor               class last week.    The gurney continues along a leafy promenade on the campus.    Passers-by just go about their normalbusiness.                         NEWS REPORTER (V.O.)               He had polio when he was 6 years               old. The disease left hisbody               crippled but his mind remained               sharp and alert, and since he               wanted to be a writer, Mark O'Brien               entered Cal tomajor in English and               learn his trade.    We hear a voice reciting a verse of poetry as we follow Mark    in his contraption.                          MARK


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar, by Edgar Rice BurroughsThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost norestrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: Tarzan and the Jewels of OparAuthor: Edgar Rice BurroughsPosting Date: June 23, 2008 [EBook #92]Release Date: December,1995First Posted: November 1, 2001Last updated: May 26, 2012Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARZAN AND THE JEWELSOF OPAR ***Produced by Judith Boss.  HTML version by Al Haines.Tarzan and the Jewels of OparByEdgar Rice BurroughsContentsCHAPTER   1  Belgian andArab   2  On the Road to Opar   3  The Call of the Jungle   4  Prophecy and Fulfillment   5  The Altar of the Flaming God   6  The Arab Raid   7  The Jewel-Room ofOpar   8  The Escape from Opar   9  The Theft of the Jewels  10  Achmet Zek Sees the Jewels  11  Tarzan Becomes a Beast Again  12  La SeeksVengeance  13  Condemned to Torture and Death  14  A Priestess But Yet a Woman  15  The Flight of Werper  16  Tarzan Again Leads the Mangani  17  TheDeadly Peril of Jane Clayton  18  The Fight For the Treasure  19  Jane Clayton and The Beasts of the Jungle  20  Jane Clayton Again a Prisoner  21  The Flight tothe Jungle  22  Tarzan Recovers His Reason  23  A Night of Terror  24  Home1Belgian and ArabLieutenant Albert Werper had only the prestige of the name hehaddishonored to thank for his narrow escape from being cashiered.  Atfirst he had been humbly thankful, too, that they had sent him to thisGodforsaken Congopost instead of court-martialing him, as he had sojustly deserved; but now six months of the monotony, the frightfulisolation and the loneliness had wrought achange.  The young manbrooded continually over his fate.  His days were filled with morbidself-pity, which eventually engendered in his weak and vacillatingminda hatred for those who had sent him here--for the very men he had atfirst inwardly thanked for saving him from the ignominy of degradation.He regrettedthe gay life of Brussels as he never had regretted thesins which had snatched him from that gayest of capitals, and as thedays passed he came to center hisresentment upon the representative inCongo land of the authority which had exiled him--his captain andimmediate superior.This officer was a cold, taciturn man,inspiring little love in thosedirectly beneath him, yet respected and feared by the black soldiers ofhis little command.Werper was accustomed to sit for hoursglaring at his superior as thetwo sat upon the veranda of their common quarters, smoking theirevening cigarets in a silence which neither seemed desirousofbreaking.  The senseless hatred of the lieutenant grew at last into aform of mania.  The captain's natural taciturnity he distorted into astudied attempt to insulthim because of his past shortcomings.  Heimagined that his superior held him in contempt, and so he chafed andfumed inwardly until one evening his madnessbecame suddenly homicidal.He fingered the butt of the revolver at his hip, his eyes narrowed andhis brows contracted.  At last he spoke."You have insulted mefor the last time!" he cried, springing to hisfeet.  "I am an officer and a gentleman, and I shall put up with it nolonger without an accounting from you, youpig."The captain, an expression of surprise upon his features, turned towardhis junior.  He had seen men before with the jungle madness uponthem--the madnessof solitude and unrestrained brooding, and perhaps atouch of fever.He rose and extended his hand to lay it upon the other's shoulder.Quiet words of counsel wereupon his lips; but they were never spoken.Werper construed his superior's action into an attempt to close withhim.  His revolver was on a level with the captain'sheart, and thelatter had taken but a step when Werper pulled the trigger.  Without amoan the man sank to the rough planking of the veranda, and as he fellthemists that had clouded Werper's brain lifted, so that he sawhimself and the deed that he had done in the same light that those whomust judge him would seethem.He heard excited exclamations from the quarters of the soldiers and heheard men running in his direction.  They would seize him, and if theydidn't kill himthey would take him down the Congo to a point where aproperly ordered military tribunal would do so just as effectively,though in a more regular manner.Werperhad no desire to die.  Never before had he so yearned for lifeas in this moment that he had so effectively forfeited his right tolive.  The men were nearinghim.  What was he to do?  He glanced aboutas though searching for the tangible form of a legitimate excuse forhis crime; but he could find only the body of theman he had socauselessly shot down.In despair, he turned and fled from the oncoming soldiery.  Across thecompound he ran, his revolver still clutched tightly inhis hand.  Atthe gates a sentry halted him.  Werper did not pause to parley or toexert the influence of his commission--he merely raised his weapon andshotdown the innocent black.  A moment later the fugitive had tornopen the gates and vanished into the blackness of the jungle, but notbefore he had transferred therifle and ammunition belts of the deadsentry to his own person.All that night Werper fled farther and farther into the heart of thewilderness.  Now and again thevoice of a lion brought him to alistening halt; but with cocked and ready rifle he pushed ahead again,more fearful of the human huntsmen in his rear than of thewildcarnivora ahead.Dawn came at last, but still the man plodded on.  All sense of hungerand fatigue were lost in the terrors of contemplated capture.  Hecouldthink only of escape.  He dared not pause to rest or eat until therewas no further danger from pursuit, and so he staggered on until atlast he fell and couldrise no more.  How long he had fled he did notknow, or try to know.  When he could flee no longer the knowledge thathe had reached his limit was hidden fromhim in the unconsciousness ofutter exhaustion.And thus it was that Achmet Zek, the Arab, found him.  Achmet'sfollowers were for running a spear through thebody of their hereditaryenemy; but Achmet would have it otherwise.  First he would question theBelgian.  It were easier to question a man first and killhimafterward, than kill him first and then question him.So he had Lieutenant Albert Werper carried to his own tent, and thereslaves administered wine and food insmall quantities until at last theprisoner regained consciousness.  As he opened his eyes he saw thefaces of strange black men about him, and just outside thetent thefigure of an Arab.  Nowhere was the uniform of his soldiers to be seen.The Arab turned and seeing the open eyes of the prisoner upon him,entered thetent."I am Achmet Zek," he announced.  "Who are you, and what were you doingin my country?  Where are your soldiers?"Achmet Zek!  Werper's eyes wentwide, and his heart sank.  He was inthe clutches of the most notorious of cut-throats--a hater of allEuropeans, especially those who wore the uniform ofBelgium.  For yearsthe military forces of Belgian Congo had waged a fruitless war uponthis man and his followers--a war in which quarter had never beenaskednor expected by either side.But presently in the very hatred of the man for Belgians, Werper saw afaint ray of hope for himself.  He, too, was an outcast andan outlaw.So far, at least, they possessed a common interest, and Werper decidedto play upon it for all that it might yield."I have heard of you," he replied, "andwas searching for you.  Mypeople have turned against me.  I hate them.  Even now their soldiersare searching for me, to kill me.  I knew that you would protectmefrom them, for you, too, hate them.  In return I will take service withyou.  I am a trained soldier.  I can fight, and your enemies are myenemies."Achmet Zekeyed the European in silence.  In his mind he revolved manythoughts, chief among which was that the unbeliever lied.  Of coursethere was the chance that he didnot lie, and if he told the truth thenhis proposition was one well worthy of consideration, since fightingmen were never over plentiful--especially white men withthe trainingand knowledge of military matters that a European officer must possess.Achmet Zek scowled and Werper's heart sank; but Werper did notknowAchmet Zek, who was quite apt to scowl where another would smile, andsmile where another would scowl."And if you have lied to me," said Achmet Zek, "Iwill kill you at anytime.  What return, other than your life, do you expect for yourservices?""My keep only, at first," replied Werper.  "Later, if I am worth more,wecan easily reach an understanding." Werper's only desire at themoment was to preserve his life.  And so the agreement was reached andLieutenant Albert Werperbecame a member of the ivory and slave raidingband of the notorious Achmet Zek.For months the renegade Belgian rode with the savage raider.  He foughtwith asavage abandon, and a vicious cruelty fully equal to that of hisfellow desperadoes.  Achmet Zek watched his recruit with eagle eye, andwith a growing satisfactionwhich finally found expression in a greaterconfidence in the man, and resulted in an increased independence ofaction for Werper.Achmet Zek took the Belgian intohis confidence to a great extent, andat last unfolded to him a pet scheme which the Arab had long fostered,but which he never had found an opportunity toeffect.  With the aid ofa European, however, the thing might be easily accomplished.  Hesounded Werper."You have heard of the man men call Tarzan?" heasked.Werper nodded.  "I have heard of him; but I do not know him.""But for him we might carry on our 'trading' in safety and with greatprofit," continued theArab.  "For years he has fought us, driving usfrom the richest part of the country, harassing us, and arming thenatives that they may repel us when we come to'trade.' He is veryrich.  If we could find some way to make him pay us many pieces of goldwe should not only be avenged upon him; but repaid for much that hehasprevented us from winning from the natives under his protection."Werper withdrew a cigaret from a jeweled case and lighted it."And you have a plan to makehim pay?" he asked."He has a wife," replied Achmet Zek, "whom men say is very beautiful.She would bring a great price farther north, if we found it toodifficult tocollect ransom money from this Tarzan."Werper bent his head in thought.  Achmet Zek stood awaiting his reply.What good remained in Albert Werper revolted atthe thought of sellinga white woman into the slavery and degradation of a Moslem harem.  Helooked up at Achmet Zek.  He saw the Arab's eyes narrow, and heguessedthat the other had sensed his antagonism to the plan.  What would itmean to Werper to refuse?  His life lay in the hands of thissemi-barbarian,  whoesteemed the life of an unbeliever less highlythan that of a dog.  Werper loved life.  What was this woman to him,anyway?  She was a European, doubtless, amember of organized society.He was an outcast.  The hand of every white man was against him.  Shewas his natural enemy, and if he refused to lend himself toherundoing, Achmet Zek would have him killed."You hesitate," murmured the Arab."I was but weighing the chances of success," lied Werper, "and myreward.  As


<title>Blade Runner Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description" content="Blade Runner script at the Internet Movie ScriptDatabase."><meta name="keywords" content="Blade Runner script, Blade Runner movie script, Blade Runner film script"><meta name="viewport"content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttype CONTENT=Document><meta name=ROBOTSCONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><meta name=distributioncontent=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><bodytopmargin="0" bottommargin="0" id="mainbody">

     <tdvalign="bottom" bgcolor="#FF0000">
The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

      <ahref="https://www.imsdb.com" title="The Internet Movie Script Database">
The web's largest
movie script resource!

           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">             <divalign="center">                <input type="text" name="search_query" maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical
        #         A        <ahref="/alphabetical/B">B        C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        G        <ahref="/alphabetical/H">H
         I        J        <ahref="/alphabetical/K">K        L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        P        <ahref="/alphabetical/Q">Q
         R        S        <ahref="/alphabetical/T">T        U        V        <ahref="/alphabetical/W">W        X        Y        <ahref="/alphabetical/Z">Z

Genre
 Action Adventure <ahref="/genre/Animation">Animation
 Comedy Crime <ahref="/genre/Drama">Drama
 Family Fantasy <ahref="/genre/Film-Noir">Film-Noir
 Horror Musical <ahref="/genre/Mystery">Mystery
 Romance Sci-Fi <ahref="/genre/Short">Short
 Thriller War <ahref="/genre/Western">Western

  Sponsor

<tablewidth="100%" border=0 cellpadding=2 cellspacing=0 class=body>
TV Transcripts
 <ahref="/TV/Futurama.html">Futurama
 Seinfeld
 SouthPark
 Stargate SG-1
 Lost
 The 4400

International
 <ahref="/language/French">French scripts

<tdclass=heading>Movie Software

Rip from DVD
 Rip Blu-Ray

Latest Comments
Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith10/10
Star Wars: TheForce Awakens10/10
Batman Begins9/10
Collateral10/10
Jackie Brown8/10

Movie Chat
 <form class="yellbox"action="https://www.yellbox.com/addmessage.php" method="post" target="ybframe" name="yellform">  <input type="hidden" name="sub_username"value="imsdb"> <input class="yellbox" name="sub_name" value="Name" size=21 maxlength=10 onFocus="if(this.value == 'Name')this.value = '';return;">
 <textarea class="yellbox" cols=15 rows=4 name="sub_message" wrap onFocus="if(this.value == 'Message')this.value = '';return;">Message</textarea>

 <button onClick="javascript:makeNewWindow(); return false;"><imgsrc="https://www.yellbox.com/images/smiley.gif" width=16 height=16></button> <button type="submit" value="Post" onClick="returnclearMessageBox();">Yell !</button>
</form>

      ALLSCRIPTS

<tdclass="scrtext">
<title>Blade Runner - ByHampton Fancher</title>
                                                                BLADE RUNNER                               Screenplayby                              HAMPTON FANCHER        July 24, 1980                    Brighton Productions Inc.                                         1420 No. BeachwoodDrive                                         Hollywood, Calif. 90028                                ****************        INT. TYRELL CORPORATION LOCKERROOM - DAY               1        THE EYE                                                 2        It's magnified and deeply revealed.  Flecks of green        and yellowin a field of milky blue.  Icy filaments        surround the undulating center.        The eye is brown in a tiny screen.  On the metallic        surface below, the wordsVOIGHT-KAMPFF are finely        etched.  There's a touch-light panel across the top        and on the side of the screen, a dial that registers        fluctuations of theiris.        The instrument is no bigger than a music box and sits        on a table between two men.  The man talking is big,        looks like an over-stuffedkid.  "LEON" it says on        his breast pocket.  He's dressed in a warehouseman's        uniform and his pudgy hands are folded expectantly in        hislap.  Despite the obvious heat, he looks very cool.        The man facing him is lean, hollow cheeked and dressed        in gray.  Detached and efficient, he lookslike a cop        or an accountant.  His name is HOLDEN and he's all        business, except for the sweat on his face.        The room is large and humid.  Rows of


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, Catriona, by Robert Louis StevensonThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: CatrionaAuthor: Robert Louis StevensonRelease Date: November 11, 2012  [eBook #589][This file was first posted on May 15,1996]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CATRIONA***Transcribed from the 1904 Cassell andCompany edition by David Price,email ccx074@pglaf.org                                 CATRIONADEDICATION.                                    To                 CHARLES BAXTER,_Writer to the Signet_.MY DEAR CHARLES,It is the fate of sequels to disappoint those who have waited for them;and my David, having been left to kick his heelsfor more than a lustrein the British Linen Companyâs office, must expect his late re-appearanceto be greeted with hoots, if not with missiles.  Yet, when Iremember thedays of our explorations, I am not without hope.  There should be left inour native city some seed of the elect; some long-legged, hot-headedyouthmust repeat to-day our dreams and wanderings of so many years ago;he will relish the pleasure, which should have been ours, to follow amongnamed streetsand numbered houses the country walks of David Balfour, toidentify Dean, and Silvermills, and Broughton, and Hope Park, and Pilrig,and poor old Lochendâifit still be standing, and the Figgate Whinsâifthere be any of them left; or to push (on a long holiday) so far afieldas Gillane or the Bass.  So, perhaps, his eyeshall be opened to beholdthe series of the generations, and he shall weigh with surprise hismomentous and nugatory gift of life.You are stillâas when first Isaw, as when I last addressed youâin thevenerable city which I must always think of as my home.  And I have comeso far; and the sights and thoughts of myyouth pursue me; and I see likea vision the youth of my father, and of his father, and the whole streamof lives flowing down there far in the north, with the soundof laughterand tears, to cast me out in the end, as by a sudden freshet, on theseultimate islands.  And I admire and bow my head before the romanceofdestiny.                                                                  R. L. S._Vailima_, _Upolu_,_Samoa_, 1892.CATRIONAâPart IâTHE LORD ADVOCATECHAPTERIâA BEGGAR ON HORSEBACKThe 25th day of August, 1751, about two in the afternoon, I, DavidBalfour, came forth of the British Linen Company, a porterattending mewith a bag of money, and some of the chief of these merchants bowing mefrom their doors.  Two days before, and even so late as yestermorning,Iwas like a beggar-man by the wayside, clad in rags, brought down to mylast shillings, my companion a condemned traitor, a price set on my ownhead for acrime with the news of which the country rang.  To-day I wasserved heir to my position in life, a landed laird, a bank porter by mecarrying my gold,recommendations in my pocket, and (in the words of thesaying) the ball directly at my foot.There were two circumstances that served me as ballast to so muchsail.The first was the very difficult and deadly business I had still tohandle; the second, the place that I was in.  The tall, black city, andthe numbers andmovement and noise of so many folk, made a new world forme, after the moorland braes, the sea-sands and the still country-sidesthat I had frequented up tothen.  The throng of the citizens inparticular abashed me.  Rankeillorâs son was short and small in thegirth; his clothes scarce held on me; and it was plain Iwas illqualified to strut in the front of a bank-porter.  It was plain, if I didso, I should but set folk laughing, and (what was worse in my case) setthem askingquestions.  So that I behooved to come by some clothes of myown, and in the meanwhile to walk by the porterâs side, and put my handon his arm as thoughwe were a pair of friends.At a merchantâs in the Luckenbooths I had myself fitted out: none toofine, for I had no idea to appear like a beggar on horseback;but comelyand responsible, so that servants should respect me.  Thence to anarmourerâs, where I got a plain sword, to suit with my degree in life.  Ifelt saferwith the weapon, though (for one so ignorant of defence) itmight be called an added danger.  The porter, who was naturally a man ofsome experience, judged myaccoutrement to be well chosen.âNaething kenspeckle,â {1} said he; âplain, dacent claes.  As for therapier, nae doubt it sits wiâ your degree; butan I had been you, I wouldhas waired my siller better-gates than that.â  And he proposed I shouldbuy winter-hosen from a wife in the Cowgate-back, thatwas a cousin ofhis own, and made them âextraordinar endurable.âBut I had other matters on my hand more pressing.  Here I was in thisold, black city,which was for all the world like a rabbit-warren, notonly by the number of its indwellers, but the complication of itspassages and holes.  It was, indeed, a placewhere no stranger had achance to find a friend, let be another stranger.  Suppose him even tohit on the right close, people dwelt so thronged in these tall houses,hemight very well seek a day before he chanced on the right door.  Theordinary course was to hire a lad they called a _caddie_, who was like aguide or pilot, ledyou where you had occasion, and (your errands beingdone) brought you again where you were lodging.  But these caddies, beingalways employed in the samesort of services, and having it forobligation to be well informed of every house and person in the city, hadgrown to form a brotherhood of spies; and I knew fromtales of Mr.Campbellâs how they communicated one with another, what a rage ofcuriosity they conceived as to their employerâs business, and howtheywere like eyes and fingers to the police.  It would be a piece of littlewisdom, the way I was now placed, to take such a ferret to my tails.  Ihad three visits tomake, all immediately needful: to my kinsman Mr.Balfour of Pilrig, to Stewart the Writer that was Appinâs agent, and toWilliam Grant Esquire ofPrestongrange, Lord Advocate of Scotland.  Mr.Balfourâs was a non-committal visit; and besides (Pilrig being in thecountry) I made bold to find the way to itmyself, with the help of mytwo legs and a Scots tongue.  But the rest were in a different case.  Notonly was the visit to Appinâs agent, in the midst of the cryabout theAppin murder, dangerous in itself, but it was highly inconsistent withthe other.  I was like to have a bad enough time of it with my LordAdvocate Grant,the best of ways; but to go to him hot-foot from Appinâsagent, was little likely to mend my own affairs, and might prove the mereruin of friendAlanâs.  The whole thing, besides, gave me a look ofrunning with the hare and hunting with the hounds that was little to myfancy.  I determined, therefore, tobe done at once with Mr. Stewart andthe whole Jacobitical side of my business, and to profit for that purposeby the guidance of the porter at my side.  But itchanced I had scarcegiven him the address, when there came a sprinkle of rainânothing tohurt, only for my new clothesâand we took shelter under apend at thehead of a close or alley.Being strange to what I saw, I stepped a little farther in.  The narrowpaved way descended swiftly.  Prodigious tall housessprang upon eachside and bulged out, one storey beyond another, as they rose.  At the toponly a ribbon of sky showed in.  By what I could spy in the windows,andby the respectable persons that passed out and in, I saw the houses to bevery well occupied; and the whole appearance of the place interested melike a tale.Iwas still gazing, when there came a sudden brisk tramp of feet in timeand clash of steel behind me.  Turning quickly, I was aware of a party ofarmed soldiers,and, in their midst, a tall man in a great coat.  Hewalked with a stoop that was like a piece of courtesy, genteel andinsinuating: he waved his hands plausibly ashe went, and his face wassly and handsome.  I thought his eye took me in, but could not meet it.This procession went by to a door in the close, which aserving-man in afine livery set open; and two of the soldier-lads carried the prisonerwithin, the rest lingering with their firelocks by the door.There can nothingpass in the streets of a city without some following ofidle folk and children.  It was so now; but the more part melted awayincontinent until but three wereleft.  One was a girl; she was dressedlike a lady, and had a screen of the Drummond colours on her head; buther comrades or (I should say) followers wereragged gillies, such as Ihad seen the matches of by the dozen in my Highland journey.  They allspoke together earnestly in Gaelic, the sound of which waspleasant in myears for the sake of Alan; and, though the rain was by again, and myporter plucked at me to be going, I even drew nearer where they were,tolisten.  The lady scolded sharply, the others making apologies andcringeing before her, so that I made sure she was come of a chiefâshouse.  All the whilethe three of them sought in their pockets, and bywhat I could make out, they had the matter of half a farthing among theparty; which made me smile a little tosee all Highland folk alike forfine obeisances and empty sporrans.It chanced the girl turned suddenly about, so that I saw her face for thefirst time.  There is nogreater wonder than the way the face of a youngwoman fits in a manâs mind, and stays there, and he could never tell youwhy; it just seems it was the thinghe wanted.  She had wonderful brighteyes like stars, and I daresay the eyes had a part in it; but what Iremember the most clearly was the way her lips were atrifle open as sheturned.  And, whatever was the cause, I stood there staring like a fool.On her side, as she had not known there was anyone so near, she lookedatme a little longer, and perhaps with more surprise, than was entirelycivil.It went through my country head she might be wondering at my new clothes;with that,I blushed to my hair, and at the sight of my colouring it isto be supposed she drew her own conclusions, for she moved her gilliesfarther down the close, and theyfell again to this dispute, where Icould hear no more of it.I had often admired a lassie before then, if scarce so sudden and strong;and it was rather my dispositionto withdraw than to come forward, for Iwas much in fear of mockery from the womenkind.  You would have thought Ihad now all the more reason to pursue mycommon practice, since I had metthis young lady in the city street, seemingly following a prisoner, andaccompanied with two very ragged indecent-likeHighlandmen.  But therewas here a different ingredient; it was plain the girl thought I had beenprying in her secrets; and with my new clothes and sword, and atthe topof my new fortunes, this was more than I could swallow.  The beggar onhorseback could not bear to be thrust down so low, or, at least of it,not by thisyoung lady.I followed, accordingly, and took off my new hat to her the best that Iwas able.âMadam,â said I, âI think it only fair to myself to let youunderstand Ihave no Gaelic.  It is true I was listening, for I have friends of my ownacross the Highland line, and the sound of that tongue comes friendly;but for