"Scaramouche", Rafael Sabatini
19 January 2025 11:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
igenlodeSabatini's books tend to fare better on screen than on the page, but it has been sufficiently long now since I saw "Scaramouche" -- which enchanted me on first viewing -- that I have forgiven the original novel for not being the novelisation of it that I had at that time expected. Indeed I enjoyed it a lot, and appreciated the additional depth given to La Tour d'Azur (and his eventually disclosed relationship to André-Louis, which I don't think exists in the film). I guessed, or possibly subconsciously remembered, the various secrets before they were revealed, but only sufficiently early to make me feel accomplished and not sufficiently beforehand to annoy.
I'm not sure that Moreau really comes across as possessing the mocking gift of gaiety with which the narrative at various times likes to ascribe him, and which is the quintessence of the classic Hollywood swashbucklers; it feels more like an entirely unsurprising level of cynical detachment engendered initially by the circumstances of his birth, and only amplified by the successive twists of fortune that undermine every path he undertakes. It is quite an achievement to create a hero out of a Scaramouche, a trickster and chameleon who switches from one identity and ingenious plan to another, and, as he himself ruefully acknowledges, objectively always seems to end up by running away. Ultimately he is much more the Stoic he professes himself than the "whimsical" and "humorous" protagonist stated by the text.
I enjoyed the verbal duel with a Danton who cannot refrain from swearing, to entertaining effect; various historical characters flit through the background, but those events tend to be mainly a hook on which to hang Moreau's various roles. I have to say I wasn't particularly enthused by the protagonist's conversion to revolutionary ideals -- personally I found him more convincing as the orator consciously manipulating the mob to his own ends. But overall I enjoyed the book because it made me care about the outcome for the characters and then dealt fairly with them, whatever their weaknesses, which is at heart all that I ask for in any novel.
This is not the story of a young man who seeks out the best swordsman in France so that he can learn to defeat his mortal enemy in a duel (although ironically enough this is pretty much precisely the tale that Moreau spins when seeking employment with a fencing-master to save himself from destitution!) It's not a sparkling romp that culminates in a dramatic duel in the theatre. It's a rueful tale of fate and estrangement and family.
I'm not sure that Moreau really comes across as possessing the mocking gift of gaiety with which the narrative at various times likes to ascribe him, and which is the quintessence of the classic Hollywood swashbucklers; it feels more like an entirely unsurprising level of cynical detachment engendered initially by the circumstances of his birth, and only amplified by the successive twists of fortune that undermine every path he undertakes. It is quite an achievement to create a hero out of a Scaramouche, a trickster and chameleon who switches from one identity and ingenious plan to another, and, as he himself ruefully acknowledges, objectively always seems to end up by running away. Ultimately he is much more the Stoic he professes himself than the "whimsical" and "humorous" protagonist stated by the text.
I enjoyed the verbal duel with a Danton who cannot refrain from swearing, to entertaining effect; various historical characters flit through the background, but those events tend to be mainly a hook on which to hang Moreau's various roles. I have to say I wasn't particularly enthused by the protagonist's conversion to revolutionary ideals -- personally I found him more convincing as the orator consciously manipulating the mob to his own ends. But overall I enjoyed the book because it made me care about the outcome for the characters and then dealt fairly with them, whatever their weaknesses, which is at heart all that I ask for in any novel.
This is not the story of a young man who seeks out the best swordsman in France so that he can learn to defeat his mortal enemy in a duel (although ironically enough this is pretty much precisely the tale that Moreau spins when seeking employment with a fencing-master to save himself from destitution!) It's not a sparkling romp that culminates in a dramatic duel in the theatre. It's a rueful tale of fate and estrangement and family.