Book Review: Seven Men of Gascony, R. F. Delderfield

NB: Another one of my occasional archival updates. This was originally written around 2014, but then forgotten about. Posting it now after a thread on TMP about Napoleonic historical fiction made me think of it again.

Delderfield was primarily a novelist, famed for being the author of A Horseman Riding By and other such works, from around the middle of the 20th century. I was loaned Seven Men of Gascony by a friend of my dads, when I was around 11-12 years old, who knew I was passionate about Napoleonic history.

I really enjoyed it back then. So much so, in fact, that I also borrowed and read one of the author's contemporary romances, Diana. All these years later, and I find myself getting back into Napoleonic history. I've now read several other books by Delderfield, all factual and all on Napoleonic subjects, The March of the Twenty-Six, about Napoleon's Marshals, and Napoleon in Love (no explanation necessary!) being the most recent.

Another of Delderfield's non-fiction Napoleonic works.

Returning to things one loved as a child can be hit and miss. But on this occasion I'm relieved to find that I still enjoy reading this. Having recently read Tolstoy's much lauded epic War And Peace, as well as Thackeray's Vanity Fair, it's nice to read fictionalised history of the era told from a French perspective (the characters being French, that is, the author was very much an Englishman), plus this is very much easy-reading compared with Tolstoy (and perhaps even Thackeray?).

That Delderfield was steeped in the history of the period is very obvious. Anyone who's read any of the many Napoleonic memoirs, of which there are an abundance, will recognise numerous tableaux, woven into this well told tale. 

Delderfield is an intelligent, articulate, old fashioned writer, and, as just mentioned, very well informed on his subject, which makes this an enjoyable read. Sure, it's not part of the canon of great literature, like War and Peace, but it's a much easier read, taking itself seriously enough, but not too seriously (a harsher way to say the same thing is that Tolstoy is deeper, but Delderfield is less pompous), and at times even as reflective on deeper themes as Tolstoy liked to continually remind us he or his characters were.

Chortle!

One of my main areas of interest in the Napoleonic era at present is Russia, 1812, and Delderfield's characters pass through this appalling episode, giving the reader some very evocative and memorable scenes. Delderfield rather cleverly structures the book as a whole around the major rivers in each theatre: we start under the heading of The Danube, during which episodes the protagonists pass through the Austrian campaign of 1809 (Aspern-Essling, etc.); The Tagus covers events in Portugal and Spain; The Niemen is the central-European bridge into Russia; the Elster finds the voltigeurs we're following retreating through Prussia; and the final river is The Sambre, where the books reaches it's conclusions. There's even a section called The Otter, in which the 'file' of soldiers wind up as prisoners in the south of England!

The River Otter. 

One senses that Delderfield includes something of himself in the character of Gabriel, who's the most fully-realised actor in the story. The others, mostly the titular 'Seven Men of Gascony', but also Napoleon, various Marshals, commanders and others, including Nicholette, a cantiniere, are colourfully drawn, but in a fairly simplistic way. I haven't read any Bernard Cornwall yet, but as far as my limited knowledge of historical fiction goes (mainly limited to Cadfael and Flashman at present), this is a good solid read, and will be of most appeal to those like myself with a 'thing' for Napoleonic history.

In conclusion, the overall story itself is a brisk, breezy, easy read, albeit that the tale it tells is far more arduous than is the experience of reading about it. Not a golden work of literary genius, perhaps, but good solid fun, with the added benefit of being told from the French side for once.

The author.

Film Review - Love & Death, Woody Allen (1975)

For me this film is a dream come true: I love Napoleonic history, and I'm especially fascinated with the 1812 campaign in Russia. And of course Russian literature and music offers vast riches for Woody Allen to both mock and do homage to. Then there's Allen himself - my favourite film maker - indulging in a rather silly take on all this stuff.

Released in '75, Love & Death marks the end of his run of early 'funny' films, after which he enters upon the decade that I see as the apex of his career, between Annie Hall and Radio Days. Love and Death certainly isn't his greatest film. Indeed, it's fairly dumb in places, as Allen movies go. But,  nevertheless, it's wonderful: there's no one else makes films quite like Woody Allen.

The Russian soldier, brave and resolute, faces death without fear.

The many faces - and fab outfits - of Boris Grushenko, 'scholar and coward'.

Despite the weighting towards farcical broad comedy, which often approaches slapstick, there are poignant moments, such as the opening and closing titles, where the pure beauty of landscape and music, despite Allen prancing about with the figure of death at one point, are quite intoxicating. Allen uses Prokofiev throughout, which helps with the Russian flavour, and the 'Troika' section from the Lieutenant Kijé Suite, used in the titles, is utterly perfect. 

Allen and Diane Keaton are brilliant, deadpanning a very Noo Yoik type convoluted love-affair into a cod-Tolstoyesque (or sometimes even cod-Dostoyevskyan) setting. There are some fabulous exchanges between Keaton's philosophical Sonja and Allen's wise-cracking Boris. And the supporting cast do fine as well, Keaton's first (herring merchant) husband, her unctuous piano-teacher - the first of her many lovers - and James Tolkan as Napoleon, are all noteworthy. Numerous other actors give brief but entertaining performances, such as the guy who portrays one of Napoleon's forgotten staff, Sidney Applebaum.

James Tolkan very much looks the part (every inch, perhaps?), as Napoleon.

As ever with Allen there's plenty of reference to such themes as existential angst and sex, which are, of course, facets of the titles themes, love and death. His encounter with and seduction of the stunning cocquette Countess Alexandrovna is very amusing. Inevitably, it being Russia in the C19th, he then has to fight a duel with Countess Alexandrovna's cuckolded lover Anton. Needless to say, the resulting duel in the snow is rather different to that between Bezukhov and Dolokhov in the many film and TV adaptations of War and Peace.

Countess Alexandrovna: 'You're the greatest lover I've ever had' 

Boris: 'Well, I practice a lot when I'm alone.'

Eventually, having become embroiled in the wars - first when Napoleon goes to war with Austria, and later when he invades Russia - very much against his will (he's a self-professed 'scholar and coward'), he finally gets together with Sonja, much against hers, only to be dragged into a plot she hatches to kill Boney. But in case you haven't seen it, I'll leave it there. 

Boris struggles with the deep moral implications of murder, and his pistol.

But, ah me... as I said above, there's no-one else makes films like Allen! So, whilst not his best, it's still a four-and-a-half bicorne affair, especially compared with the vast and seemingly endless tidal-waves of brainless, humourless dross Hollywood pumps out these days. As silly as this undoubtedly often gets, it's still packed with not just wit, but intelligence, pathos, and even reflections, albeit largely tongue in cheek, on the kind of deeper themes that Tolstoy et al loved to ruminate on.

'You luuu-rve Russia, don't you!?'

Oops, Boris chooses the wrong place to hide!

Projectile Woody. Who'd Dare accuse Allen of being a dummy? [1]

I don't recall this scene, perhaps it was cut?

Russian soldier: 'God is testing us'.

Boris: 'Couldn't he have given us a written?'

In terms of military scenes and action, whilst there's a fair bit of it, and on quite a grand scale, it's all pretty silly, from the deliberate anachronism of the bawling black U.S. Marine style drill-master, to Woody's malfunctioning weapons, and his ill-advised choice of the barrel of a cannon as a place to hide. Nevertheless, and rather like Harry Flashman, despite his own best efforts to shirk, cower and hide, Boris becomes a hero.

The first and only major military campaign depicted on film here is, as in War and Peace, the 1805 campaign, which culminatesd in Austerlitz. In this film, Allen doesn't - as mainstream American directors would undoubtedly do - signpost such references (and the film is littered with cultural cross defences), they're there for the knowing to spot and enjoy.

The second military phase is of course the 1812 invasion, but again history, military and civil, just serves as a vehicle for Allen's comedic take an everything from sex and art, to angst and philosophy. This is the segment in which Boris is not a soldier, but a would-be assassin. So it's not so much battles, as intrigue, Boris and Sonja inveigling their way into the Imperial HQ.

In a film like Bondarchuk's Waterloo, one might lament any license with history. Here, however, we are clearly dealing with a film in which historical accuracy was not paramount. Nevertheless, the uniforms and settings are, for the most part, pretty good - and certainly sumptuous and quite spectaular - but mostly it's just great fun to see a favourite era used for comedic mileage.

It looks like making the film was fun, but...

... Woody explains to readers of Esquire why making films like Love And Death isn't fun.

A nice publicity still.

A great very retro image, used in some versions of the post series for the film.

On set in Hungary. An experience which put Allen off filming abroad for about 20 years!