Quills Page #4

I hope you'll judge him|by his progress here,

- No !|- not his past reputation.

I can't go on like this.|Why should this be happening to me ?

Once again, gentlemen.

I'm just a lowly cobbler.

I have been all my life.

And with this shoe,|I'm asking you to be a cobbler's wife.

It's a dreadful play,|a festering pustule|on the face of literature.

Why, the parchment it's written upon|isn't worthy to wipe my ass.

But you need not make it worse.|Say your lines with conviction,|my happy little shoemaker.

- Like a true actor.|- But I'm not an actor.|I'm a dyspeptic.

Just seduce her,|you goon !

He's actually made a great success|of our little theater.

There's seldom an empty seat,|not to mention its therapeutic value.

Playing dress-up|with cretins...

sounds like a symptom|of madness, not a cure.

Homo perversio:
|a species that thrives in captivity.

Marquis, this is Dr. Royer-Collard.|He's joining us here in-

An advisory capacity.

Welcome to our humble|madhouse, Doctor.

I trust you'll|find yourself at home.

There he is, the new doctor.

Tell me, Abbe, why is he in your care|and not a proper prison ?

- His wife's influence.|- " His wife's" ?

Better to have an insane spouse|than a criminal one.

And he has never once|tried to escape ?

A man of his notoriety ?|He wouldn't last a day|on the streets without capture.

Besides, every wholesome thing|he might desire, he has at Charenton:;

a library filled|with the world's great books,

music lessons,|watercolor exercises.

What effect have all these amenities|had on his psyche ?

He no longer roars|or spits.

He no longer taunts the guards|or molests his fellow wards.

And his writing ?

- Ah, yes, that.|- Well ?

It's essential to his recovery,|a purgative for the toxins in his mind.

Do you favor|its publication ?

- For sale ? To the general public ?|- Yes. Yes.

No, certainly not.|It's unprintable.

All France is aghast at this book,|yet you've never heard of it.

Oh, dear God.

Silence the marquis,|or Charenton will be shut down|by order of the emperor.

"Shut down" ? But he's one|among some 200 wards.

You could try|my calming chair on him.

Or, perhaps,|try bleeding him with leeches.

Or maybe flog him|at the stake.

Why ? So he'll learn|to fear punishment...

rather than to see virtue|for its own rewards ?

Doctor, let me take up this matter|with the marquis myself.

- Chariton's my life's work.|- I am not without a heart.

But this book is a profound insult|to decent people everywhere.

Can you personally guarantee|this won't happen again ?

You have my word.

- What is it, Abbe ?|- The marquis has embarrassed us.

- From Napoleon himself.|- Why ? What's he done ?

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