5+ stars (6/10 hearts). France & England, 1792. The Terror has just begun, and men, women, and children are being cruelly murdered for no other reason than their status… or how inefficient they are. A daring English band has begun rescuing the condemned aristocrats right under the noses of the French, and superstition mounts, along with anger and a determination to unmask their fearless leader, known as the Scarlet Pimpernel.
This book is simply a mix of action, mystery, and passion. There is really no theme, and we have no time to pause and make moralistic remarks—the characters are rushing on and we must catch up. The writing style is very good. Slyly sarcastic, humorously sharp, and very descriptive, it reminds me a little of Jules Verne, although it is not quite as good as his style. But what really makes the book is the characters.
The daring, mysterious, almost superhuman Scarlet Pimpernel—able to disguise himself flawlessly and outwit the cleverest man in Europe. It is impossible to say much about him without giving it away, but the man is amazing, and captures your imagination quite as much as Zorro, if not Robin Hood.
Marguerite St. Just—gorgeous, clever, humorous, passionate, confused, lonely. She is a complex mixture of republican and aristocrate, love and indifference, brains and folly. You feel much for Marguerite, no matter how much she trips up. After all, she has never had anyone to guide her, and you know she does her best, and, in the end, redeems herself well.
Sir Percy Blakeney—despairingly foppish, inane, and slow, yet somehow pathetically lovable and humorous.
Chauvelin—cruel, wicked, savage, merciless, terrifying. He is one of the worst villains of literature, a fit opponent to the Scarlet Pimpernel.
And then the minor characters: Armand, passionate to the tips of his very French fingers, and a sweet older brother. Sir Andrew, a noble, daring, loyal friend—a true gentleman. Lord Antony, loud and coarse yet somehow not to be despised, only to be ignored indifferently. Suzanne, sweet and girlish. The Vicomte, vain, pathetic, and hilarious. The Comtesse, clinging so hard to what normalcy she can. Sally & Mr. Jellyband, typical British common folk of the era. Everyone was so alive, so very English—or French.
The plot is a real rollercoaster. From the startling opening chapter, to the more restful inn; the clash between characters; the introduction of the villain; the terrible choice at the ball—it is a constant succession of movement. As Marguerite writhes through the coils Chauvelin puts around her, and the struggles to unmask the Pimpernel mount, the sudden crash of realization comes as a startling blow right after a moment of yearning tenderness between two estranged lovers. Then comes the chase, hampered by obdurate nature; the capture, so bizarre and confusing; the midnight escapade… and the end. Someone or something is always doing something, and we almost feel we MUST pay attention, for everything depends on our vigilance as much as on Marguerite’s.
The romance is particularly passionate. There are no physical scenes; it is entirely spiritual passion, with a sweet denouement where true love triumphs over pride and misunderstanding. The characters being married, there is nothing wrong with it; yet it certainly feeds the imagination, and I don’t recommend it for young readers, nor do I think it is wise to read it often. As said above, there is really no moral to the story, except the age-old, “good will triumph over evil, and love will win in the end.” And that, perhaps, is the allure of the story—a strong, beautiful, swashbuckling hero, such as we all dream of; a yearning for love and fulfilment and companionship; a mental struggle between the greyness of morality; a passionate restitution, without care for self; and a happy, perfect ending, with the knowledge that everything worked out in the end.
Content: Frequent use of language (sometimes euphemisms, such as “demmed,” “zooks,” “Lud”); people think a married woman is eloping with another man (false); an anti-semitic attitude; a waitress is hugged by a man to provoke her lover; & mentions of gambling. Recommended ages 18+
A Favourite Quote: Thus human beings judge of one another, with but little reason, and no charity. She despised her husband for his inanities and vulgar, unintellectual occupations; and he, she felt, would despise her still worse, because she had not been strong enough to do right for right's sake, and to sacrifice her brother to the dictates of her conscience.
A Favourite Beautiful Quote: The sound of the distant breakers made her heart ache with melancholy. She was in the mood when the sea has a saddening effect upon the nerves. It is only when we are very happy, that we can bear to gaze merrily upon the vast and limitless expanse of water, rolling on and on with such persistent, irritating monotony, to the accompaniment of our thoughts, whether grave or gay. When they are gay, the waves echo their gaiety; but when they are sad, then every breaker, as it rolls, seems to bring additional sadness, and to speak to us of hopelessness and of the pettiness of all our joys.
A Favourite Humorous Quote: “Did you ever see such a wet September, Mr. Jellyband?” asked Mr. Hempseed.…
“No,” replied Mr. Jellyband, sententiously, “I dunno, Mr. 'Empseed, as I ever did. An' I've been in these parts nigh on sixty years.”
“Aye! you wouldn't rec'llect the first three years of them sixty, Mr. Jellyband,” quietly interposed Mr. Hempseed. “I dunno as I ever see'd an infant take much note of the weather, leastways not in these parts, an' I've lived 'ere nigh on seventy-five years, Mr. Jellyband.”