Portrait of Napoleon by Antoine-Jean Gros.
In The Companions of Jehu, even though Alexandre Dumas implies the fate of some of the characters from the beginning, throughout the book I couldn’t help wishing—no, believing— that it could turn out differently.
I have to admit, The Companions of Jehu, got off to a very, very slow start. I’m pretty sure I’ve never read a book that was so slow to begin. There was an introduction, in which Dumas shares at length, in narrative form, how he developed the idea for the novel and how he conducted his research. It was kind of funny and not boring, but there was more. Before the actual story starts, which begins in 1799, there is a ten or so page prologue tracing the history-in-brief of the city of Avignon, from the late 12th century. (I’m not kidding.) While a lot of it was pretty interesting, I understood more deeply than ever why writers are cautioned against prologues, and against beginning the story too early.
On the other hand, this history adds depth to a tale that might have seemed isolated and superficial without it. It puts the story into context. Also, it seems from the text that one of Dumas’s primary goals in the writing of his novels was to educate the French public about their history. (He must have had a more patient public than most readers today.) I know he educated me; I couldn’t help but return to Wikipedia and the dictionary again and again to learn about personages throughout the history of France and political terms of the day. Even though it was difficult to get through that initial chunk of background, I’m glad I read it. There were more history lessons sprinkled liberally throughout the text, which I found illuminating (if sometimes a pesky interruption). I’m pretty sure this is not the best way to include exposition, and it’s definitely not how it’s done now, but it did the job. Dumas’s somewhat peculiar self-aware style of narration made it easier to swallow.
Once the history was covered, it was easy to get into the story itself. Dumas has a way with dialogue and fast-paced action, which I guess maybe goes without saying. Two mysterious strangers appear at a wayside inn, and sit down at a table d’hote (basically family-style dining with other guests) and overhear the tale of some highwaymen who, in Robin Hood-like fashion, rob from the government and give to the cause of the exiled King Louis XVIII. The two strangers are surprised and appalled when one of the masked brigands enters the dining room, returns some personal funds—accidentally mixed in with stolen government money—to their owner, and leaves with no one challenging him. One of the strangers, Roland, a fiery young soldier with a death-wish, who also happens to be aide-de-camp to Napoleon Bonaparte, makes it his mission to track down these Companions of Jehu and put an end to their treason.
Dumas is sympathetic towards and critical of both the Republican and Royalist camps. He seems most sympathetic to Napoleon’s cause, but in spite of that, I felt more sympathy for the Royalists; I especially loved the rugged Chouans of Brittany and their leader, Georges Cadoudal. I also found myself more on the side of the character of Morgan, the most important “Companion of Jehu” in the story, than that of Roland, even though I liked both characters; maybe I’m just a sucker for a lost cause, but I found the royalist ideals more heartfelt than Roland’s almost unthinking devotion to his friend, Napoleon. Roland’s chivalry eventually won me over, though.
This action-packed political adventure has a bit of darkness to it, since the events take place just after the Terror. Reading this story, set in context by Dumas, it’s easy to see why people were drawn to a figure like Napoleon, and why the people of France longed for the order and stability he must have represented after the upheaval of revolution.
(Oh, and I found a new kind of dandy to love.)
This review is part of Paris in the Spring: Alexander Dumas on Tour at the Classics Circuit.
