Who are you? Where do you come from? Who will guarantee you? I don't know you.
Gonchon. Well, I don't know you.
Marat. If you don't know me, you are a scoundrel. I am known wherever there is virtue and poverty. I spend my nights taking care of the sick, and my days taking care of the people. My name is Marat.
Gonchon. I don't know you.
Marat. If you don't, you will before long, traitor! Oh, credulous people, absurd people, open your eyes. Do you realize where you are? What, do you gather here to prepare your struggle for liberty? Look, look about you! This is the gathering-place of all the exploiters, all the idle classes, swindlers, thieves, prostitutes, disguised spies, the instruments of the aristocracy! [Howls, protestations, and the like, from one part of the Crowd, which cries: "Down with him!" and bare their fists.]
Desmoulins. Bravo, Marat! Struck the nail on the head!
La Contat. Who is that dirty little fellow with such beautiful eyes?
Desmoulins. A doctor-journalist.
Another Part op the Crowd. Go on! [They applaud.]
Marat. I care nothing for the howling of these traitors, these accomplices of famine and servitude! They rob you of what money you have left; they drain your strength with their women, and your good sense with liquor! Fools! And you put yourselves in their clutches, and blurt out your secrets to them! You
