Gallantry | Page 3

Here, stumbling through the mazes of a code, in the habiliments of Ormskirk or de Soyecourt, he passes from the adventures of the mind (Kennaston in The Cream of the Jest, Charteris in Beyond Life) through the adventures of the flesh (Jurgen) to the darker adventures of the spirit (Manuel in Figures of Earth). Even this Gallantry, the most candidly superficial of Cabell's works, is alive with a vigor of imagination and irony. It is not without significance that the motto on the new title-page is: "Half in masquerade, playing the drawing-room or garden comedy of life, these persons have upon them, not less than the landscape among the accidents of which they group themselves, a certain light that we should seek for in vain upon anything real."
The genealogically inclined will be happy to discover that Gallantry, for all its revulsion from reality, deals with the perpetuated life of Manuel in a strangely altered milieu. The rest of us will be quicker to comprehend how subtly this volume takes its peculiar place in its author's record of struggling dreams, how, beneath, a surface covered with political finery and sentimental bric-��-brac, the quest goes on, stubbornly and often stupidly, in a forgotten world made suddenly animate and as real as our own.
And this, the thesis will conclude, is because Cabell is not as much a masquerader as he imagines himself to be. None but a visionary could wear so constantly upon his sleeve the desire "to write perfectly of beautiful happenings." None but the poet, shaken with the strength of his vision, could cry to-day, "It is only by preserving faith in human dreams that we may, after all, perhaps some day make them come true." For poetry, to which all literature aspires, is not the shadow of reality but the image of perfection, the light of disembodied beauty toward which creation gropes. And that poetic consciousness is the key to the complex and half-concealed art of James Branch Cabell.
LOUIS UNTERMEYER.
New York City, April, 1922.

CONTENTS
THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY
THE PROLOGUE
I SIMON'S HOUR
II LOVE AT MARTINMAS
III THE CASUAL HONEYMOON
IV THE RHYME TO PORRINGER
V ACTORS ALL
VI APRIL'S MESSAGE
VII IN THE SECOND APRIL
VIII HEART OF GOLD
IX THE SCAPEGOATS
X THE DUCAL AUDIENCE
LOVE'S ALUMNI: THE AFTERPIECE
THE EPILOGUE

THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY
TO MRS. GRUNDY
Madam,--It is surely fitting that a book which harks back to the manners of the second George should have its dedication and its patron. And these comedies claim naturally your protection, since it likewise appears a custom of that era for the poet to dedicate his book to his most influential acquaintance and the one least likely to value it.
Indeed, it is as proper that the plaudits of great persons be reserved for great performances as it is undeniable these
tiny pictures of that tiny time Aim little at the lofty and sublime.
Yet cognoscenti still esteem it an error in the accomplished Shakespeare that he introduced a game of billiards into his portrayal of Queen Cleopatra's court; and the impropriety had been equal had I linked the extreme of any passion with an age and circle wherein abandonment to the emotions was adjudged bucolic, nay, Madam, the Eumenides were very terrifying at Delphi, no doubt, but deck them with paint, patch, and panniers, send them howling among the beau monde on the Pantiles, and they are only figures of fun; nor may, in reason, the high woes of a second Lear, or of a new Prometheus, be adequately lighted by the flambeaux of Louis Quinze.
Conceive, then, the overture begun, and fear not, if the action of the play demand a lion, but that he shall be a beast of Peter Quince's picking. The ladies shall not be frighted, for our chief comedians will enact modish people of a time when gallantry prevailed.
Now the essence of gallantry, I take it, was to accept the pleasures of life leisurely and its inconveniences with a shrug. As requisites, a gallant person will, of course, be "amorous, but not too constant, have a pleasant voice, and possess a talent for love-letters." He will always bear in mind that in love-affairs success is less the Ultima Thule of desire than its coup de grace, and he will be careful never to admit the fact, especially to himself. He will value ceremony, but rather for its comeliness than for its utility, as one esteeming the lily, say, to be a more applaudable bulb than the onion. He will prink; and he will be at his best after sunset. He will dare to acknowledge the shapeliness of a thief's leg, to contend that the commission of murder does not necessarily impair the agreeableness of the assassin's conversation; and to insist that at bottom God is kindlier than the genteel would regard as rational. He will, in fine, sin on sufficient provocation, and repent within the moment,