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

who persisted in rattling very large iron chains and in groaning dismally throughout the night. Then toward morning he took the form of a monstrous cat, and climbed upon the foot of my bed: and there he squatted yowling until daybreak. And as I am ignorant of German, I was not able to convey to him any idea of my disapproval of his conduct. Now I trust that as compatriots, or as I might say with more exactness, as former compatriots, you will appreciate that such behavior is out of all reason.”

“Messire,” says the male ghost, and he oozed to his full height, “you are guilty of impertinence in harboring such a suspicion. I can only hope it proceeds from ignorance.”

“For I am sure,” put in the lady, “that I always disliked cats, and we never had them about the castle.”

“And you must pardon my frankness, messire,” continued the male ghost, “but you cannot have moved widely in noble company if you are indeed unable to distinguish between members of the feline species and of the reigning family of Glathion.”

“Well, I have seen dowager queens who justified some such confusion,” observed Jurgen. “Still, I entreat the forgiveness of both of you, for I had no idea that I was addressing royalty.”

“I was King Smoit,” explained the male phantom, “and this was my ninth wife, Queen Sylvia Tereu.”

Jurgen bowed as gracefully, he flattered himself, as was possible in his circumstances. It is not easy to bow gracefully while sitting erect in bed.

“Often and over again have I heard of you, King Smoit,” says Jurgen. “You were the grandfather of Gogyrvan Gawr, and you murdered your ninth wife, and your eighth wife, and your fifth wife, and your third wife too: and you went under the title of the Black King, for you were reputed the wickedest monarch that ever reigned in Glathion and the Red Islands.”

It seemed to Jurgen that King Smoit evinced embarrassment, but it is hard to be quite certain when a ghost is blushing. “Perhaps I was spoken of in some such terms,” says Smoit, “for the neighbors were censorious gossips, and I was not lucky in my marriages. And I regret, I bitterly regret, to confess that, in a moment of extreme yet not quite unprovoked excitement, I assassinated the lady whom you now behold.”

“And I am sure, through no fault of mine,” says Sylvia Tereu.

“Certainly, my dear, you resisted with all your might. I only wish that you had been a larger and a brawnier woman. But you, messire, can now perceive, I suppose, the folly of expecting a high King of Glathion, and the queen that he took delight in, to sit upon your bed and howl?”

So then, upon reflection, Jurgen admitted he had never had that experience; nor, he handsomely added, could he recall any similar incident among his friends.

“The notion is certainly preposterous,” went on King Smoit, and very grimly he smiled. “We are drawn hither by quite other intentions. In fact, we wish to ask of you, as a member of the family, your assistance in a delicate affair.”

“I would be delighted,” Jurgen stated, “to aid you in any possible way. But why do you call me a member of the family?”

“Now, to deal frankly,” says Smoit, with a grin, “I am not claiming any alliance with the Duke of Logreus⁠—”

“Sometimes,” says Jurgen, “one prefers to travel incognito. As a king, you ought to understand that.”

“⁠—My interest is rather in the grandson of Steinvor. Now you will remember your grandmother Steinvor as, I do not doubt, a charming old lady. But I remember Steinvor, the wife of Ludwig, as one of the loveliest girls that a king’s eyes ever lighted on.”

“Oh, sir,” says Jurgen, horrified, “and what is this you are telling me!”

“Merely that I had always an affectionate nature,” replied King Smoit, “and that I was a fine upstanding young king in those days. And one of the results of my being these things was your father, whom men called Coth the son of Ludwig. But I can assure you Ludwig had done nothing to deserve it.”

“Well, well!” said Jurgen: “all this is very scandalous: and very upsetting, too, it is to have a brand-new grandfather foisted upon you at this hour of the morning. Still, it happened a great while ago: and if Ludwig did not fret over it, I see no reason why I should do so. And besides, King Smoit, it may be that you are not telling me the truth.”

“If you doubt my confession, messire my grandson, you have only to look into the next mirror. It is precisely on this account that we have ventured to dispel your slumbers. For to me you bear a striking resemblance. You have the family face.”

Now Jurgen considered the lineaments of King Smoit of Glathion. “Really,” said Jurgen, “of course it is very flattering to be told that your appearance is regal. I do not at all know what to say in reply to the implied compliment, without seeming uncivil. I would never for a moment question that you were much admired in your day, sir, and no doubt very justly so. None the less⁠—well, my nose, now, from such glimpses of it as mirrors have hitherto afforded, does not appear to be a snub-nose.”

“Ah, but appearances are proverbially deceitful,” observed King Smoit.

“And about the left hand corner,” protested Queen Sylvia Tereu, “I detect a distinct resemblance.”

“Now I may seem unduly obtuse,” said Jurgen, “for I am a little obtuse. It is a habit with me, a very bad habit formed in early infancy, and I have never been able to break myself of it. And so I have not any notion at what you two are aiming.”

Replied the ghost of King Smoit: “I will explain. Just sixty-three years ago tonight I murdered my ninth wife in circumstances of peculiar brutality, as you with rather questionable taste have mentioned.”

Then Jurgen was somewhat abashed, and felt that it did not become