"‘Half a point a-weather,’ he said. ‘Half a point a-weather it is, sir.’ When they were within range the leading Frenchman would yaw to give the Surprise a broadside and ordinarily the Surprise would put her helm hard a-weather to avoid being raked. Yet with this scarcely perceptible half-point in hand he could haul his wind a trifle and not only avoid the broadside but perhaps sweep by before the enemy had time for another. Perhaps. So much depended on what the second ship did. It would be a most perilous business, getting past the two of them. Yet it had to be done. As if they had divined his intention the two frigates altered course, one slightly to starboard, the other slightly to port, to take him between them."
Many who enjoy this series do so for descriptions, such as the one above.
Patrick O’Brian’s deft touch with the saga of Captain Aubrey and Doctor Maturin is elevated to a new level in this novel. That may appeal to some of the readers and disappoint others.
What I mean by this is that I detect that O’Brian is, in effect, channeling Jane Austen.
This volume is much more a comedy, in the traditional sense. It explores relationships, personalities and mores in more depth than some of the previous volumes. It has all the elements of ethical missteps, mistaken identity, mistaken intentions, a satiric look at human desires, and humorous situations.
I found on this reading (not my first) that these elements enhanced my delight with this series.
Here are some examples:
"Dr Maturin, sitting with his legs crossed and his breeches unbuckled at the knee, felt a slight movement upon his calf, as of an insect or the like: instinctively he raised his hand, but years of natural philosophy – of a desire to know just what the creature was, and a wish to spare the honey-bee or the innocent resting moth – delayed the stroke. He had often paid for his knowledge in the past, and now he paid for it again: he had scarcely recognized the great twelve-spotted Maltese horse-fly before it thrust its proboscis deep into his flesh. He struck, crushed the brute, and sat watching the blood spread on his white silk stocking, his lips moving in silent rage."
"Mrs Fielding was certainly not at leisure in Maturin’s particular sense of the word, but it was pleasant too to see how well she took their open though respectful admiration, their kindly banter and their flights of wit – no missishness, no bridling, no simpering, but no bold over-confidence either: she hit just the right note of friendliness, and Maturin watched her with admiration. He had earlier noticed her ignoring of Pelham’s drunkenness – she was used to men of war – and now he observed her instant recovery from the shock of seeing Pullings’ face as Jack Aubrey led him out of the arbour’s shade to be presented and the particularly kind way in which she wished him joy of his promotion and asked him to her house that evening – a very small party, just to hear the rehearsal of a quartet: he saw her childish delight when the chelengk was put through its paces and her frank greed when she had it in her hands and she was admiring the big stones at the top. He watched her with curiosity, and with something more than that. For one thing she reminded him strongly of his first love: she had the same build, rather small but as slim and straight as a rush, and the same striking dark red hair; and by a very singular coincidence she too had arranged it so that a touchingly elegant nape was to be seen, and an ear with a delicate curve. For another she had shown him particular attention. Insects might still delude Maturin and pierce his skin, but at this late stage it was difficult for women to do so. He knew that no one could possibly admire him for his looks; he had no illusions about his social charms or his conversation; and although he felt that his best books, Remarks on Pezophaps Solitarius and Modest Proposals for the Preservation of Health in the Navy, were not without merit he did not believe that either would set any female bosom in a blaze. Even his wife had not been able to get through more than a few pages, in spite of her very real good will. His status in the Navy was modest – he was not even a commissioned officer – and he had neither patronage nor influence. Nor was he rich. Mrs Fielding’s amiability and her invitations were therefore prompted by something other than a notion (however remote) of gallantry or of profit: what it might be he could not tell unless indeed it had to do with intelligence. If that were so then clearly it was his duty to be all compliance. There was no other way in which he could sift the matter; no other way in which he could either surprise her connections or induce her to reveal them, or use her to convey false information. He might be completely mistaken – after a while an intelligence-agent tended to see spies everywhere, rather as certain lunatics saw references to themselves in every newspaper – but whether or no he intended to play his part in the hypothetical game. And he the more easily persuaded himself that this was the right course since he liked her company, liked her musical evenings, and was convinced that he could govern any untimely emotion that might rise in his heart. It was for Mrs Fielding that he had put on these white stockings (for neither his rank nor his inclination required his presence at the reception), and it was for Mrs Fielding that he now advanced, swept off his hat, made his most courtly leg and cried, ‘A very good day to you, ma’am. I trust I find you well?’ ‘All the better for seeing you, sir,’ said she, smiling and giving him her hand. ‘Dear Doctor, cannot you persuade Captain Aubrey to take his lesson? We only have to memorate the trapassato remoto.’ ‘Alas, he is a sailor; and you know the sailor’s slavish devotion to clocks and bells.’ A shadow passed over Laura Fielding’s face: her only disagreement with her husband had been on the subject of punctuality. With a slightly artificial cheerfulness she went on, ‘Just the regular trapassato remoto – not ten minutes.’"
"‘Your plan seems to answer, sir,’ said Giuseppe, watching the officers and Graham start climbing the steps towards the palace and Stephen and Mrs Fielding sit down to a dish of iced cream flavoured with coffee – they had agreed that Miss Lumley was not a sea-officer and could not therefore have so morbidly acute a sense of measured time. ‘I believe it may answer very well,’ said Lesueur. ‘In general I have found that the uglier the man, the greater his vanity.’ ‘Now, sir,’ said Laura Fielding, licking her spoon, ‘since you have been so very kind, and since I should like to send Giovanna off to Notabile, I shall ask you to be kinder still and walk with me as far as St Publius: there are always a great many blackguard soldiers hanging about the Porta Reale, and without my dog . . .’ Dr Maturin declared that he should be happy to act as vicar to so noble a creature, and indeed he looked unusually pleased and cheerful as they left the courtyard and as he handed her across the Piazza Regina, crowded with soldiers and two separate herds of goats; but by the time they were walking past the Auberge de Castile part of his mind had drifted away, back to the subject of mood and its origins. Another part was very much in the present, however, and his silence was in some degree deliberate; it did not last long, but as he had foreseen it disturbed Laura Fielding. She was under a constraint – a constraint that he perceived more and more clearly – and both her tone and her smile were somewhat artificial when she said, ‘Do you like dogs?’ ‘Dogs, is it?’ he said, giving her a sideways glance and smiling. ‘Why now, if you were an ordinary commonplace everyday civilly-prating gentlewoman I should smirk and say “Lord, ma’am, I dote upon ’em,” with as graceful as writhe of my person as I could manage. But since it is you I shall only observe that I understand your words as a request that I should say something: you might equally have asked did I like men, or women, or even cats, serpents, bats.’ ‘Not bats,’ cried Mrs Fielding. ‘Certainly bats,’ said Dr Maturin. ‘There is as much variety in them as in other creatures: I have known some very high-spirited, cheerful bats, others sullen, froward, dogged, morose. And of course the same applies to dogs – there is the whole gamut from false fawning yellow curs to the heroic Ponto.’"