Scarlet Pimpernel

We seek him here, we seek him there,

Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.

Is he in heaven?--Is he in hell?

That demmed, elusive Pimpernel.

Everyone but his wife admires the Sir Percy Blakeney's witticism. "All done in the tying of a cravat," the foppish aristocrat declares.

I plan to return the book to the library today and, I must say, it was a fast-paced fun read in spite of unbelievable characters. I find it difficult to admire a heroine who first betrays a man and his entire family to their deaths with her careless words (simply because he had once had her brother beaten), and then unwittingly betrays her own husband (although she is repeatedly described as "the cleverest woman in Europe"), and then thinks it's up to her to rush off to France to warn him (although he had repeatedly gotten himself out of the most incredible situations), and then becomes yet another helpless victim he must rescue. And the hero is such a perfect superman that he carries his poor wife, weak from stress and a long walk, for a long distance over rough ground in spite of having just been beaten nearly to death by two burly soldiers wielding their belt buckles on him and in spite of having a perfectly fresh, healthy young male friend beside him who offers to carry her. Not entirely realistic, but extremely popular and lucrative for Baroness Orczy (which I learned from the book's forword is pronounced "Ort-zee").

I have the feeling, however, that the Baroness herself would be the first to agree with me. She was an intelligent woman and an accomplished painter, but never considered herself an artist. She began writing novels only because, after hearing some of the efforts of her friends, believed that she could do just as well. Her popular success was a complete surprise to her, but provided her and her artist husband with an extensive estate in Kent, a London home, and a villa at Monte Carlo (another fact I learned from the informative foreword).

I much prefer to learn this kind of practical stuff from foreword to being harangued by a high-brow critical analysist. I like to learn what constitutes great literature, but I can make up my own mind about what I like in a book and why I like it.

In addition to the informative foreword, the volume I borrowed from our local library had many photos of the author. I especially enjoyed the one of her at thirteen, with her moody eyes and serious mouth. But I grew a little weary of the Baroness Orczy at Villa Bijou, Baroness Orczy and Her Husband, Baroness Orczy at Work, and The Author in Her Garden ones, which were all obviously set up shots taken on the same day.

When I return The Scarlet Pimpernel to the library today, I hope to look for another classic that I've never read. Our local library does not seem to carry an abundance of classic literature. The easiest way to find one is to slide my eyes along the shelves until I see a thick old book with the title handwritten in white ink on a black taped binding.

That will invariably be one of great literature's classic novels.