Cabell Molds Beauty, Coarseness, Laughter, Horror, Wit
The Story. Poictesme again, the land of Dom Manuel and Jurgen, but a Poictesme of later date—Poictesme in the last years of Louis the Sun-King.
Manuel's blood and Jurgen's ran in the veins of Florian de Puysange—a heroic but discomfortable inheritance. It did not help him to live easily in this world.
Even as a child he had strange adventures. Melusine, the immortal elvish sorceress, found him daydreaming one day, took him into the forest of Acaire. There was a high place in the middle of that wood. There Florian beheld Melior, asleep beneath a coverlet of violet wool in her father's bemagicked palace, and, having seen the perfect beauty of Melior, all great satisfaction in mortal women was spoiled for him. When he grew up, it is true, he married four times, lived a life of extreme if elegant debauchery and committed crimes too numerous to note. But in spite of all that, he maintained the romantic faith of a child in beauty and holiness—the beauty of Melior, of Acaire—the holiness of Holy St. Hoprig, his patron in Heaven. And then, on the eve of his fifth marriage, he encountered Janicot, a sedate and uncanny personage with curious feet and many damnable names.
They bargained for two prizes, Melior and the sword, Flamberge. For the sword Florian promised Janicot the life of the greatest man in France; for brief happiness with Melior, the life of the first child born to Melior and Florian.
"Of course," said Janicot reflectively, "if there should be no child—"
"Monsieur, I am Puysange," said Florian, "There will be a child."
So Florian won his desire and brought Melior home as his duchess. Then his disenchantment began. Melior was as beautiful as day—a beautiful, chattering fool. And as for Holy St. Hoprig, whom Florian discovered alive in the flesh—the saint's conversation alone destroyed Florian's belief in holiness completely. The child of .sacrifice was born, and then the end came an end too odd and unexpected for us to reveal here. Suffice it to say that it taught Florian that the great law of living is "thou shalt not offend against the notions of thy neighbor" and that wisdom lies in submission, without demanding of this life too much of beauty or holiness.
The Significance. The polish, the precision, the elaborate grace and subterranean acridity of Mr. Cabell's characteristic style have never been displayed to better advantage than in this, which is among the very bitterest of his books. He is not afraid of coarseness, but he is not afraid of beauty—and in The High Place he has molded beauty and coarseness and sadness and horror and wit and defiant laughter together in a strangely complete and unique achievement.
The Critics. Burton Rascoe: "The conclusion ... is a moving diminuendo on muted strings after a stirring approach to the climax. It is a matter of charm and solace after excitement, of emotion remembered in tranquillity."
The New York Times: "... a false paganism, a sophisticated grace. . . . The effect is one of conscious insincerity."