author - "Rafael Sabatini"
Description
Scaramouche tells the tale of André-Louis Moreau, a young lawyer in Brittany. When his friend is killed by an unremorseful landowner, Moreau swears revenge and begins a life of adventure on the run. His travels lead him to joining a traveling theater troupe, becoming a master swordsman, and even to revolution.
While the story of Scaramouche is fiction, Sabatini was always very careful to portray history as accurately as he could in his novels. Thus, the backdrop of the French Revolution is vibrant, immediate, and carefully described. In general Sabatini’s prose is sharp and entertaining.
Scaramouche was incredibly popular in its day, and was Sabatini’s most famous novel. The first line is written on Sabatini’s grave.
the murder was not lacking.
My narrative in "The Night of Hate" is admittedly a purely theoretical account of the crime. But it is closely based upon all the known facts of incidence and of character; and if there is nothing in the surviving records that will absolutely support it, neither is there anything that can absolutely refute it.
In "The Night of Masquerade" I am guilty of quite arbitrarily discovering a reason to explain the mystery of Baron Bjelke's sudden change from the devoted friend and servant of Gustavus III of Sweden into his most bitter enemy. That speculation is quite indefensible, although affording a possible explanation of that mystery. In the case of "The Night of Kirk o' Field," on the other hand, I do not think any apology is necessary for my reconstruction of the precise manner in which Darnley met his death. The event has long been looked upon as one of the mysteries of history - the mystery lying in the fact that whilst the house at Kirk o' Field was destroyed by an e
omentary return to the Fool'sestate from which I thought myself on the point of being for ever freed.
"I shall use the interview to induce his Excellency to submit a tenthbeatitude to the approval of our Holy Father: Blessed are the bearers ofgood tidings. Come on, Messer the seneschal."
I led the way, in my impatience forgetful of his great paunch and littlelegs, so that he was sorely tried to keep pace with me. Yet who wouldnot have been in haste, urged by such a spur as had I? Here, then, wasthe end of my shameful travesty. To-morrow a soldier's harness shouldreplace the motley of a jester; the name by which I should be known againto men would be that of Lazzaro Biancomonte, and no longer Boccadoro--theFool of the golden mouth.
Thus much had Madonna Lucrezia's promises led me to expect, and it waswith a soul full of joyous expectation that I entered the great man'scloset.
He received me in a manner calculated to set me at my ease, and yet therewas about him a something that overa
ld my arm to the Cardinal, but, disregarding it, he stepped heavily to the ground unaided, followed by André, on whom I kept a sharp eye, lest the knave should attempt to run.
I followed them at a distance of some eight yards, as I had been ordered, marvelling as I went what could be the Cardinal's plan of action.
We elbowed our way through a noisy dirty rabble, whom a dozen of the King's Guards could scarcely keep from obstructing the side entrance--used only by privileged individuals--in their curiosity to see the fanciful costumes of the maskers.
It was close upon midnight when we entered the ball-room. His Majesty, I learnt, had already withdrawn, feeling slightly indisposed; therefore I concluded that if there was any serious conspiracy afoot, the blow--which otherwise might have been restrained by the King's presence--could not be long in falling.
Scarcely had we advanced a dozen paces, when my attention was drawn to a tall, thin man, of good bearing, dressed after the
rmagnac or red Anjou? This was a Burgundy of whichMonsieur le Marquis thought highly, and this a delicate Lombardywine that His Majesty had oft commended. Or perhaps Monsieur deChatellerault would prefer to taste the last vintage of Bardelys?
And so they plagued him and bewildered him until his choice wasmade; and even then a couple of them held themselves in readinessbehind his chair to forestall his slightest want. Indeed, had hebeen the very King himself, no greater honour could we have shownhim at the Hotel de Bardelys.
But the restraint that his coming had brought with it hung stillupon the company, for Chatellerault was little loved, and hispresence there was much as that of the skull at an Egyptian banquet.
For of all these fair-weather friends that sat about my table -amongst whom there were few that had not felt his power - I fearedthere might be scarcely one would have the grace to dissemble hiscontempt of the fallen favourite. That he was fallen, as much hiswords as what
g to Gavrillac on a November morning, laden with news of thepolitical storms which were then gathering over France, Philippefound in that sleepy Breton village matter to quicken his alreadylively indignation. A peasant of Gavrillac, named Mabey, had beenshot dead that morning in the woods of Meupont, across the river,by a gamekeeper of the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr. The unfortunatefellow had been caught in the act of taking a pheasant from a snare,and the gamekeeper had acted under explicit orders from his master.
Infuriated by an act of tyranny so absolute and merciless, M. deVilmorin proposed to lay the matter before M. de Kercadiou. Mabeywas a vassal of Gavrillac, and Vilmorin hoped to move the Lord ofGavrillac to demand at least some measure of reparation for thewidow and the three orphans which that brutal deed had made.
But because Andre-Louis was Philippe's dearest friend - indeed, hisalmost brother - the young seminarist sought him out in the firstinstance. He found him at break
ue of a pretended secret marriage between Charles Stuart and Lucy Walter - it was possible that this Monmouth who now proclaimed himself King of England was not even the illegitimate child of the late sovereign. What but ruin and disaster could be the end of this grotesque pretension? How could it be hoped that England would ever swallow such a Perkin? And it was on his behalf, to uphold his fantastic claim, that these West Country clods, led by a few armigerous Whigs, had been seduced into rebellion!
"Quo, quo, scelesti, ruitis?"
He laughed and sighed in one; but the laugh dominated the sigh, for Mr. Blood was unsympathetic, as are most self-sufficient men; and he was very self-sufficient; adversity had taught him so to be. A more tender-hearted man, possessing his vision and his knowledge, might have found cause for tears in the contemplation of these ardent, simple, Nonconformist sheep going forth to the shambles - escorted to the rallying ground on Castle Field by wives and daughters, sweeth
Description
Peter Blood, with experience as a soldier and sailor, is practicing medicine in Bridgewater, England, when he inadvertently gets caught up in a rebellion being waged by the Duke of Monmouth. After being convicted of treason, Blood and some of the rebels are sentenced to slavery in the Caribbean. The year is 1688.
During the course of Blood’s servitude, he works on the sugar plantation of Colonel Bishop and becomes infatuated with the colonel’s niece, Arabella. When Bishop realizes that Blood is an accomplished physician he “employs” Blood in that capacity.
When the colony is attacked by a Spanish force, Blood and some of the other slaves manage to escape and take over the Spanish ship. Several of the other escapees turn out to be experienced seaman, including as officers in the British navy. This group turns the Spanish ship into a very successful pirate ship, specializing in raiding Spanish shipping.
This begins Captain Blood’s journey toward redemption and his “courtship” of Arabella.
Sabatini based Blood’s character on several historical figures, including a doctor who was sentenced to slavery (but did not become a pirate), as well as Henry Morgan (who was a pirate). His most well known novel was Scaramouche. Sabatini also wrote a number of short stories about Captain Blood in the early 1920s.
Description
Scaramouche tells the tale of André-Louis Moreau, a young lawyer in Brittany. When his friend is killed by an unremorseful landowner, Moreau swears revenge and begins a life of adventure on the run. His travels lead him to joining a traveling theater troupe, becoming a master swordsman, and even to revolution.
While the story of Scaramouche is fiction, Sabatini was always very careful to portray history as accurately as he could in his novels. Thus, the backdrop of the French Revolution is vibrant, immediate, and carefully described. In general Sabatini’s prose is sharp and entertaining.
Scaramouche was incredibly popular in its day, and was Sabatini’s most famous novel. The first line is written on Sabatini’s grave.
the murder was not lacking.
My narrative in "The Night of Hate" is admittedly a purely theoretical account of the crime. But it is closely based upon all the known facts of incidence and of character; and if there is nothing in the surviving records that will absolutely support it, neither is there anything that can absolutely refute it.
In "The Night of Masquerade" I am guilty of quite arbitrarily discovering a reason to explain the mystery of Baron Bjelke's sudden change from the devoted friend and servant of Gustavus III of Sweden into his most bitter enemy. That speculation is quite indefensible, although affording a possible explanation of that mystery. In the case of "The Night of Kirk o' Field," on the other hand, I do not think any apology is necessary for my reconstruction of the precise manner in which Darnley met his death. The event has long been looked upon as one of the mysteries of history - the mystery lying in the fact that whilst the house at Kirk o' Field was destroyed by an e
omentary return to the Fool'sestate from which I thought myself on the point of being for ever freed.
"I shall use the interview to induce his Excellency to submit a tenthbeatitude to the approval of our Holy Father: Blessed are the bearers ofgood tidings. Come on, Messer the seneschal."
I led the way, in my impatience forgetful of his great paunch and littlelegs, so that he was sorely tried to keep pace with me. Yet who wouldnot have been in haste, urged by such a spur as had I? Here, then, wasthe end of my shameful travesty. To-morrow a soldier's harness shouldreplace the motley of a jester; the name by which I should be known againto men would be that of Lazzaro Biancomonte, and no longer Boccadoro--theFool of the golden mouth.
Thus much had Madonna Lucrezia's promises led me to expect, and it waswith a soul full of joyous expectation that I entered the great man'scloset.
He received me in a manner calculated to set me at my ease, and yet therewas about him a something that overa
ld my arm to the Cardinal, but, disregarding it, he stepped heavily to the ground unaided, followed by André, on whom I kept a sharp eye, lest the knave should attempt to run.
I followed them at a distance of some eight yards, as I had been ordered, marvelling as I went what could be the Cardinal's plan of action.
We elbowed our way through a noisy dirty rabble, whom a dozen of the King's Guards could scarcely keep from obstructing the side entrance--used only by privileged individuals--in their curiosity to see the fanciful costumes of the maskers.
It was close upon midnight when we entered the ball-room. His Majesty, I learnt, had already withdrawn, feeling slightly indisposed; therefore I concluded that if there was any serious conspiracy afoot, the blow--which otherwise might have been restrained by the King's presence--could not be long in falling.
Scarcely had we advanced a dozen paces, when my attention was drawn to a tall, thin man, of good bearing, dressed after the
rmagnac or red Anjou? This was a Burgundy of whichMonsieur le Marquis thought highly, and this a delicate Lombardywine that His Majesty had oft commended. Or perhaps Monsieur deChatellerault would prefer to taste the last vintage of Bardelys?
And so they plagued him and bewildered him until his choice wasmade; and even then a couple of them held themselves in readinessbehind his chair to forestall his slightest want. Indeed, had hebeen the very King himself, no greater honour could we have shownhim at the Hotel de Bardelys.
But the restraint that his coming had brought with it hung stillupon the company, for Chatellerault was little loved, and hispresence there was much as that of the skull at an Egyptian banquet.
For of all these fair-weather friends that sat about my table -amongst whom there were few that had not felt his power - I fearedthere might be scarcely one would have the grace to dissemble hiscontempt of the fallen favourite. That he was fallen, as much hiswords as what
g to Gavrillac on a November morning, laden with news of thepolitical storms which were then gathering over France, Philippefound in that sleepy Breton village matter to quicken his alreadylively indignation. A peasant of Gavrillac, named Mabey, had beenshot dead that morning in the woods of Meupont, across the river,by a gamekeeper of the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr. The unfortunatefellow had been caught in the act of taking a pheasant from a snare,and the gamekeeper had acted under explicit orders from his master.
Infuriated by an act of tyranny so absolute and merciless, M. deVilmorin proposed to lay the matter before M. de Kercadiou. Mabeywas a vassal of Gavrillac, and Vilmorin hoped to move the Lord ofGavrillac to demand at least some measure of reparation for thewidow and the three orphans which that brutal deed had made.
But because Andre-Louis was Philippe's dearest friend - indeed, hisalmost brother - the young seminarist sought him out in the firstinstance. He found him at break
ue of a pretended secret marriage between Charles Stuart and Lucy Walter - it was possible that this Monmouth who now proclaimed himself King of England was not even the illegitimate child of the late sovereign. What but ruin and disaster could be the end of this grotesque pretension? How could it be hoped that England would ever swallow such a Perkin? And it was on his behalf, to uphold his fantastic claim, that these West Country clods, led by a few armigerous Whigs, had been seduced into rebellion!
"Quo, quo, scelesti, ruitis?"
He laughed and sighed in one; but the laugh dominated the sigh, for Mr. Blood was unsympathetic, as are most self-sufficient men; and he was very self-sufficient; adversity had taught him so to be. A more tender-hearted man, possessing his vision and his knowledge, might have found cause for tears in the contemplation of these ardent, simple, Nonconformist sheep going forth to the shambles - escorted to the rallying ground on Castle Field by wives and daughters, sweeth
Description
Peter Blood, with experience as a soldier and sailor, is practicing medicine in Bridgewater, England, when he inadvertently gets caught up in a rebellion being waged by the Duke of Monmouth. After being convicted of treason, Blood and some of the rebels are sentenced to slavery in the Caribbean. The year is 1688.
During the course of Blood’s servitude, he works on the sugar plantation of Colonel Bishop and becomes infatuated with the colonel’s niece, Arabella. When Bishop realizes that Blood is an accomplished physician he “employs” Blood in that capacity.
When the colony is attacked by a Spanish force, Blood and some of the other slaves manage to escape and take over the Spanish ship. Several of the other escapees turn out to be experienced seaman, including as officers in the British navy. This group turns the Spanish ship into a very successful pirate ship, specializing in raiding Spanish shipping.
This begins Captain Blood’s journey toward redemption and his “courtship” of Arabella.
Sabatini based Blood’s character on several historical figures, including a doctor who was sentenced to slavery (but did not become a pirate), as well as Henry Morgan (who was a pirate). His most well known novel was Scaramouche. Sabatini also wrote a number of short stories about Captain Blood in the early 1920s.