Word: marat
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Greatest hush-hush ship in line was not the Soviet battleship Marat whose comrade sailors spent most of their time exercising on parallel bars on deck, nor the Nazi pocket battleship Admiral Graf Spec which served beer to visitors, but the pride of the French navy, the Dunkerquc. Only official visitors were allowed on board, and even they were rushed below decks as quickly as possible. Though only half the size of Britain's ponderous Hood, the newly completed Dunkerque, spies insist, is the fastest and most heavily armored battleship afloat...
...weapon used by Charlotte Corday to murder Jean Paul Marat...
...grandiose proposals, when in the hot summer of 1793, Charlotte de Corday sat in a dim house in Caen, embroidering on a piece of silk the question: "Shall I, shall I not?" A cool, gracious, studious maiden of 24, she was asking herself if she should assassinate Jean-Paul Marat, President of the Jacobins, diseased, crippled, doomed fanatic who called himself "the rage of the people." The mood of ecstasy that Charlotte de Corday, as a follower of Rousseau, had experienced when the Declaration of the Rights of Man was published had long since given way to disillusion, foreboding...
Born near Geneva, Marat was the son of a poor chemist. He studied medicine in Scotland, became expert in several languages, took up science. Fearless, bitter, he possessed a quick, vivid pen, turned it to account, after the overthrow of the French monarchy, with violent and inflammatory pamphlets. He gradually became powerful as a spokesman for the extreme Left, the "true type," according to Joseph Shearing, "of the low agitator of the Paris gutters." Terribly ugly, 5 ft. tall but with an enormous head, he suffered with eczema so badly that it was commonly believed he had leprosy. Charlotte...
...taken to Marat, found him sitting in his bath, correcting proof on a plank laid across the tub. Seriously ill, Marat spent his days in a slipper tub, nude to the waist, a dressing-gown thrown across his shoulders, his head bound in vinegar-soaked muslin, fighting arthritis, eczema and the great heat. His flesh corrupting, his blood poisoned, death was only a matter of weeks. His lead-colored features were swollen and disfigured with sores; his eyes, bloodshot arid yellow-grey, were nevertheless serene. He spoke to her gently. Awaiting her opportunity, she gave him details of an uprising...