Sir Percy Leads the Band is a novel by Baroness Orczy written in 1936. Now it was written in 1936 long after other books she wrote like the obvious one, The Scarlet Pimpernel, but also I Will Repay written in 1906, The Elusive Pimpernel (1908), Eldorado (1913) and Lord Tony's Wife in 1917. There are more books that are written before she got around to writing Sir Percy Leads the Band which had me picturing the marching band my dad played in for over fifty years, but I'm already tired of listing the other books that come between the two so you'll just have to take my word for it. However I read our marching band book before any of the rest because chronologically it comes next after The Scarlet Pimpernel, set in January and February 1793. I don't know why she took so long to write it, but she did. The book follows on from the original Scarlet Pimpernel book, same good guys, same bad guys, some of them anyway. And again there are many, many people who are busy cutting other people's heads off leaving me wondering if I make it to the end of the Pimpernel series if there will be anyone left who still has a head.
It already appears that most of the nobility are just about wiped out so they have to find a new group of people to hate. But since I don't want to start with people losing their heads I'll start with the first few paragraphs in the novel:
The Hall of the Pas Perdus, the precincts of the House of Justice, the corridors, the bureaux of the various officials, judges and advocates were all thronged that day as they had been during all the week, ever since Tuesday when the first question was put to the vote: "Is Louis Capet guilty of conspiring against liberty?" Louis Capet! Otherwise Louis XVI, descendant of a long line of kings of the Grand Monarque of Saint Louis, himself the anointed, the crowned King of France! And now! Arraigned at the bar before his fellow-men, before his one-time devoted subjects, or supposedly devoted, standing before them like any criminal, accused not of murder, or forgery or theft, but of conspiring against liberty.
A king on his trial! And for his life! Let there be no doubt about that. It is a matter of life or death for the King of France. There has been talk, endless talk and debate in the Hall of Justice ever since the eleventh day of December over a month ago now when Louis first appeared before the bar of the Convention. Fifty-seven questions were put to the accused. "Louis Capet, didst thou do this, that or the other? Didst thou conspire against liberty?" Louis to all the questions gave the simple reply: "No! I did not do that, nor did I do the other. If I did, it was in accordance with the then existing laws of France."
For a whole month and more this went on during the short December days when the snowfall, rain or fog obscured what there was of daylight, and the shades of evening wrapped the big hall, and all that it contained of men's passions and men's cruelty, in gloom. Then the candles were lighted and flickered in the draught till the clerk went the round with the snuffers and shipped off from each candle a bit of the thread that held the light. And the light flickered on, till judges and jury and advocates were weary, and filed out of the Hall of Justice, and the candles were finally snuffed out, extinguished by destiny and the vengeful hands of men.
I guess I didn't get so very far away from another execution after all, because it's no big surprise to find out that our king, or their king I suppose, is about to join all those other lucky ones and lose his head too. And so the king is sentenced to death and we're told that when Paris woke up that morning they were appalled, I'm not sure why since they were the ones yelling for the king's execution. Then just to prove both sides can kill we have this:
The Extremists rejoiced: the rowdy elements went about shouting "Vive la Liberté!" waving tricolour flags, carrying spikes crowned with red caps, but Paris as a whole did not respond. It pondered over the verdict, and shuddered at the murder of Lepelletier, the deputy who had put forward the proposal: "No delay! Death within twenty-four hours!" His proposal had been carried by a majority of seventy. It was then two o'clock in the morning, and he went on to Février's in the Palais Royal to get some supper. He had finished eating and was paying his bill, when he was suddenly attacked by an unknown man, said to have once belonged to the King's Guard, who plunged a dagger in the deputy's breast shouting: "Regicide! Take that!" and in the confusion that ensued made good his escape. Paris asked itself: "Why this man rather than another?" And the six hundred and ninety-six deputies who had voted for death without a recommendation for mercy shut themselves up in their apartments, being in fear of their lives.
At least he kept his head. I wonder which way to die hurt the most? We're told that even though the people are now feeling a little fear over the whole thing, the cafes and restaurants still were busy, after all, people still had to be fed, and they also had to talk. They talked mostly in whispers, who knows what you could get arrested for anymore, but they did talk, and sat around in the cafes and restaurants to do it. Most English families residing in France took this time to get out of the country, many had sent their wives and children home weeks ago. But there were still a good many there, journalists, men in business, things like that. Two of the men just sitting in a restaurant that evening are de Batz, I'm sure he has a first name but I can't remember it, and the Professor, I'm sure he has a first and a last name but I can't remember either one. The men had met and become friends at a meeting of the Jacobin Club whatever that is. You would need to know none of this if it wasn't for our professor:
The Professor had hardly moved a muscle, while de Batz indulged first in reminiscences and then in flattery. He appeared unconscious of the other's growing excitement, sat leaning back in his chair, one slender hand framed in spotless cambric resting on the table. And all the time his eyes watched under heavy lids the exodus of the various clients of the restaurant, as one by one they finished their dinner, paid their bill, picked up hat and coat and passed out in to the fast gathering gloom. And somehow one felt that nothing escaped those eyes, that they saw everything, and noted everything even though their expression never changed.
But our Mr. de Batz has a plan to rescue the king on his way to the guillotine. It seems that he and five hundred other men will be posted during the taking of the king through the streets in different houses along the route between the Temple and the Place de la Revolution. At a signal they plan on rushing the carriage where only the king and his confessor will be sitting, they will drag the King out of it and during the confusion that follow they will smuggle him into a house close by, in which the inhabitants are all on the king's side. When the professor doesn't respond to this and de Batz stops speaking to ask him what he is thinking, he replies that he is thinking of the 80,000 men on the other side who will be there taking the king to the execution, but de Batz says they have surprise on their side. And now de Batz wants the professor's help in this, he wants him to go to the Abbé Edgeworth, the king's old priest and have him come and go along with the king. The little problem is that those loyal patriots have already denied the king's request for his own confessor and sent him one of their own. De Batz and company plan to switch the two confessors somewhere along the way, and then the Abbe would be able to prepare and encourage the king for what is about to happen. Our professor, however, refuses to help, and then this happens:
"Surely you are not hesitating, Monsieur le Professeur! A little thing like that! And for such a cause! I would scour Paris myself, only that my hands are full. And my five hundred adherents--"
"You should apply to one of them, Monsieur le Baron," the other broke in quietly.
Monsieur le Baron gave a jump.
"You don't mean to say that you hesitate?" he uttered in a hoarse whisper.
"I do more than that Monsieur le Baron. I refuse."
"Refuse?...ref-"
De Batz was choking. He passed his thick finger round the edge of his cravat.
"To lend a hand in dragging the Abbé Edgeworth into this affair."
De Batz' florid face had become the colour of beet-root. He stretched out his hand and clenched his fist as if he meant to strike that urbane milksop in the face. However, he thought better of that. A fracas in a public place was not part of his programme. His hand unclenched, but it closed round the stem of a wineglass and snapped it in two. The Professor scarcely moved. In the far corner the man who had been reading put down his paper and glanced round lazily, while one of the domino players paused in his game, with one piece between his fingers and a look of indifferent curiosity in his eyes.
It's those men reading and playing dominos we have to watch for now. We have to pay attention to this also:
"I don't believe it," de Batz protested. "No man with decent feeling in him would refuse to render this service. Good God, man! You are not risking your life, not like I and my friends are willing to do. You can help us, I know. You must have a reason a valid reason for refusing to do so. As I say, you wouldn't be risking your life...."
"Not mine, but that of an innocent and a good man."
"What the devil do you mean?"
"You are proposing to throw Abbé Edgeworth to the wolves."
"I am not. I am proposing to give him the chance of doing his bit in the work of saving the life of his King. He will thank me on his knees for this."
"He probably would, for he is of the stuff that martyrs are made. But I will not help you to send him to his death."
"Whoever accompanies Louis XVI to the guillotine, if he be other than the one chosen by the Convention, will be a marked man. His life will not be worth twelve hours' purchase!"
"The guillotine? The guillotine?" De Batz retorted hotly. "Who talks of the guillotine and of Louis XVI in one breath? I tell you, man, that our King will never mount the steps of the guillotine. There are five hundred of us, worth a hundred thousand of Santerre's armed men, who will drag him out of the clutches of those assassins."
De Batz's plan doesn't work, it's no spoiler to tell you that. All five hundred of these men are known to have sympathy for the royalists and all five hundred of them are watched the next day until well after the king has made his last trip. Poor de Batz finds himself without anyone to help him make his brave move. But back to those men who had been reading and playing in the restaurant:
There was no look of despondency on their faces, rather the reverse, they looked eager and excited, and the back of the tall man in black with the broad shoulders and narrow hips suggested energy rather than dejection. After a time he turned away from the window and found a perch on the edge of a broken-down truckle bed that stood in a corner of the room.
"Well!" he began addressing the others collectively, "you heard what that madman said?"
"Most of it," one of them replied.
"He has a crack-brained scheme of stirring up five hundred madcaps into shouting and rushing the carriage in which the King will be driven from prison to the scaffold. Five hundred lunatics egged on by that candidate for Bedlam, trying to reach that carriage which will be escorted by eighty thousand armed men! It would be ludicrous if it were not so tragic."
"One wonders," remarked one of them, "who those wretched five hundred are."
"Young royalists," the other replied, "all of them known to the Committees. As a matter of fact, I happen to know that most of them, if not all, will receive a visit from the police during the early hours of the morning, and will not be allowed to leave their apartments till after the execution of the King."
These men sitting talking happen to be the "band" of the Scarlet Pimpernel:
Their chief was not in the habit of talking lengthily on any point. That he did so on this occasion was proof how keenly he felt about the whole thing. Did he wish to justify before these devoted followers of his, his inaction with regard to the condemned King? I do not think so. He was accustomed to blind obedience that was indeed the factor that held the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel so indissolubly together and three of the four men who were here with him to-day, Lord Anthony Dewhurst, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Hastings, were his most enthusiastic followers.
This whole thing has given the Pimpernel band something to take care of and their leader tells them that they must rescue the Abbé Edgeworth who is a good man. And so the next day finds the men in the crowd, their leader tells them that once the King's head has fallen there will be an immense commotion for a few minutes and that will give them their chance of getting the Abbé away. Once they have him away they will take him to the Levet family, good friends of his who would be willing to help the old man. And this gets us to the Levets, who are so much more the center of the story then the king or de Batz ever were. And that's what they do, they manage to get the Abbé to the Levet's, but that puts them at risk, and then they get the Abbé away to La Rodière, where Madame la Marquis lives with her son, François de la Rodière, and daughter Cécile. Now they are in the book and we soon leave the king and the Abbé behind, well the Abbé is quickly moved on, so I guess he leaves us, and he leaves us with the de la Rodière family, and the Levet family, father, son and daughter, Blanche, and also Dr. Simon Pradel. We don't always have to deal with getting royalty out of the country, we also have love stories all messed up.
You see Blanche Levet is madly in love with Dr. Pradel, Dr. Pradel is madly in love with Cécile, her brother hates the doctor because he is in love with his sister and is beneath her, way beneath her and shouldn't even think of such a thing. Blanche hates Cécile you can figure out why all by yourself, and the doctor really cares for Blanche, but as a sister type of love. Then there is Louis Maurin, I can't stand this guy, if I could stand this guy there would be something wrong with me. He's a lawyer and he is madly in love with Blanche Levet. I wonder if anyone is ever in love with the same person who is in love with them at the same time. So far I don't see it happening. Maurin goes out of his way to make trouble for the Levets, like reporting them - secretly of course - as having a spy under their roof. That way he can come in while they are being arrested and get them out of trouble, then Blanche will be so very grateful to him. It works - kind of, she is grateful, but she is still in love with the doctor. They do all manage to end up in jail, so they should be moved pretty high up the list for the Scarlet Pimpernel. And that brings me back to the Pimpernel and his band, while all this is going on they are still going around planning, plotting, and carrying out their plans of saving those most in need of being saved.
One thing that had me puzzled and I wish I would have gone back to find the answer, it would have cleared up a big problem for me. That one thing is about a member of the Pimpernel band, Lord Devinne. This guy should not be a part of the group, but here he is. Why he would even want to do what they do I don't know, he certainly didn't seem to want to be there and certainly didn't want to take orders from anyone, even the Scarlet Pimpernel. The men in this group have to work together and have to trust each other, and Lord Devinne does neither and I would never have trusted him. So not only is he extremely grumpy the entire book, and that's putting it mildly, he is also, here's my confusing part, madly in love (yes again someone else is), with Cécile and does some pretty rotten things to make sure he is the one who ends up with the girl. Now, what I couldn't figure out was, how did a man who came into France with a bunch of other men in secret to save and smuggle people out of the country, have time to meet and fall in love with anyone? Especially so in love he is willing to do anything to get her for himself. So I finished the book with no answer to this question, I kept thinking it would enlighten me eventually, but as I closed the book I still didn't know, so I finally went back to the beginning and started looking, and finally in Chapter 3 I found this:
Lord Tony said, speaking to both the others:
"Do you trust that fellow Devinne?" and then added emphatically: "I do not."
My Lord Hastings shook his head thoughtfully.
"I wonder what is the matter with him."
"I can tell you that," Lord Tony observed. "He is in love with Mademoiselle de la Rodière. He met her in Paris five years ago, before all this revolutionary trouble had begun. Her mother and, of course, her brother won't hear of her marrying a foreigner, any more than a village doctor, and Devinne, you know, is a queer-tempered fellow. He cannot really look on that fellow Pradel as a serious rival, and yet, as you could see just now, he absolutely hates him and vents his spleen upon him. His attitude to the chief I call unpardonable. That is why I do not trust him."
Whereupon Sir Andrew murmured under his breath: "If we have a traitor in the camp, then God help the lot of us."
If I would have gone back to find that long before the end of the book I would have enjoyed it more, but as it is I still enjoyed it, I enjoyed it and I'm moving on to the next Pimpernel book in the series. I wonder whatever happened to the professor anyway? Happy reading.