Jurgen by James Branch Cabell (any book recommendations TXT) 📕

you swear to do what you can to get me the love of my lady, and that will suffice.”

Yolande, without any particular enthusiasm, consented to attempt this: and indeed Yolande, at Jurgen’s request, made oath upon the Four Evangelists that she would do everything within her power to aid him.

“Very well,” said Jurgen, “you have sworn, and it is you whom I love.”

Surprise now made her lovely. Yolande was frankly delighted at the thought of marrying the young Duke of Logreus, and offered to send for a priest at once.

“My dear,” says Jurgen, “there is no need to bother a priest about our private affairs.”

She took his meaning, and sighed. “Now I regret,” said she, “that I made so solemn an oath. Your trick was unfair.”

“Oh, not at all,” said Jurgen: “and presently you will not regret it. For indeed the game is well worth the candle.”

“How is that shown, Messire de Logreus?”

“Why, by candlelight,” says Jurgen⁠—“naturally.”

“In that event, we will talk no further of it until this evening.”

So that evening Yolande sent for him. She was, as Gogyrvan had said, a remarkably handsome woman, sleek and sumptuous and crowned with a wealth of copper-colored hair. Tonight she was at her best in a tunic of shimmering blue, with a surcote of gold embroidery, and with gold embroidered pendent sleeves that touched the floor. Thus she was when Jurgen came to her.

“Now,” says Yolande, frowning, “you may as well come out straightforwardly with what you were hinting at this morning.”

But first Jurgen looked about the apartment, and it was lighted by a tall gilt stand whereon burned candles.

He counted these, and he whistled. “Seven candles! upon my word, sweetheart, you do me great honor, for this is a veritable illumination. To think of it, now, that you should honor me, as people do saints, with seven candles! Well, I am only mortal, but none the less I am Jurgen, and I shall endeavor to repay this sevenfold courtesy without discount.”

“Oh, Messire de Logreus,” cried Dame Yolande, “but what incomprehensible nonsense you talk! You misinterpret matters, for I can assure you I had nothing of that sort in mind. Besides, I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Indeed, I must warn you that my actions often speak more unmistakably than my words. It is what learned persons term an idiosyncrasy.”

“⁠—And I certainly do not see how any of the saints can be concerned in this. If you had said the Four Evangelists now⁠—! For we were talking of the Four Evangelists, you remember, this morning⁠—Oh, but how stupid it is of you, Messire de Logreus, to stand there grinning and looking at me in a way that makes me blush!”

“Well, that is easily remedied,” said Jurgen, as he blew out the candles, “since women do not blush in the dark.”

“What do you plan, Messire de Logreus?”

“Ah, do not be alarmed!” said Jurgen. “I shall deal fairly with you.”

And in fact Yolande confessed afterward that, considering everything, Messire de Logreus was very generous. Jurgen confessed nothing: and as the room was profoundly dark nobody else can speak with authority as to what happened there. It suffices that the Duke of Logreus and the Lady of the Green Castle parted later on the most friendly terms.

“You have undone me, with your games and your candles and your scrupulous returning of courtesies,” said Yolande, and yawned, for she was sleepy; “but I fear that I do not hate you as much as I ought to.”

“No woman ever does,” says Jurgen, “at this hour.” He called for breakfast, then kissed Yolande⁠—for this, as Jurgen had said, was their hour of parting⁠—and he rode away from the Green Castle in high spirits.

“Why, what a thing it is again to be a fine young fellow!” said Jurgen. “Well, even though her big brown eyes protrude too much⁠—something like a lobster’s⁠—she is a splendid woman, that Dame Yolande: and it is a comfort to reflect I have seen justice was done her.”

Then he rode back to Cameliard, singing with delight in the thought that he was riding toward the Princess Guenevere, whom he loved with his whole heart.

XIII Philosophy of Gogyrvan Gawr

At Cameliard the young Duke of Logreus spent most of his time in the company of Guenevere, whose father made no objection overtly. Gogyrvan had his promised talk with Jurgen.

“I lament that Dame Yolande dealt over-thriftily with you,” the King said, first of all: “for I estimated you two would be as spark and tinder, kindling between you an amorous conflagration to burn up all this nonsense about my daughter.”

“Thrift, sir,” said Jurgen, discreetly, “is a proverbial virtue, and fires may not consume true love.”

“That is the truth,” Gogyrvan admitted, “whoever says it.” And he sighed.

Then for a while he sat in nodding meditation. Tonight the old King wore a disreputably rusty gown of black stuff, with fur about the neck and sleeves of it, and his scant white hair was covered by a very shabby black cap. So he huddled over a small fire in a large stone fireplace carved with shields; beside him was white wine and red, which stayed untasted while Gogyrvan meditated upon things that fretted him.

“Now, then!” says Gogyrvan Gawr: “this marriage with the high King of the Britons must go forward, of course. That was settled last year, when Arthur and his devil-mongers, the Lady of the Lake and Merlin Ambrosius, were at some pains to rescue me at Carohaise. I estimate that Arthur’s ambassadors, probably the devil-mongers themselves, will come for my daughter before June is out. Meanwhile, you two have youth and love for playthings, and it is spring.”

“What is the season of the year to me,” groaned Jurgen, “when I reflect that within a week or so the lady of my heart will be borne away from me forever? How can I be happy, when all the while I know the long years of misery and vain regret are near at