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

Mother of small Gods. No doubt she has a host of other names. And you cajoled her, you consider! I would not willingly walk in the shirt of any person who considers that. But she will enlighten you, my friend, at her appointed time.”

“Well, so that she deals justly⁠—” Jurgen said, and shrugged.

Now Merlin put aside the mirror. “Meanwhile it was another matter entirely that Dame Anaïtis and I discussed, and about which I wished to be speaking with you. Gogyrvan is sending to King Arthur, along with Gogyrvan’s daughter, that Round Table which Uther Pendragon gave Gogyrvan, and a hundred knights to fill the sieges of this table. Gogyrvan, who, with due respect, possesses a deplorable sense of humor, has numbered you among these knights. Now it is rumored the Princess is given to conversing a great deal with you in private, and Arthur has never approved of garrulity. So I warn you that for you to come with us to London would not be convenient.”

“I hardly think so, either,” said Jurgen, with appropriate melancholy; “for me to pursue the affair any further would only result in marring what otherwise will always be a perfect memory of diverse very pleasant conversations.”

“Old poet, you are well advised,” said Merlin⁠—“especially now that the little princess whom we know is about to enter queenhood and become a symbol. I am sorry for her, for she will be worshipped as a revelation of Heaven’s splendor, and being flesh and blood, she will not like it. And it is to no effect I have forewarned King Arthur, for that must happen which will always happen so long as wisdom is impotent against human stupidity. So wisdom can but make the best of it, and be content to face the facts of a great mystery.”

Thereupon, Merlin arose, and lifted the tapestry behind him, so that Jurgen could see what hitherto this tapestry had screened.

“You have embarrassed me horribly,” said Jurgen, “and I can feel that I am still blushing, about the ankles. Well, I was wrong: so let us say no more concerning it.”

“I wished to show you,” Merlin returned, “that I know what I am talking about. However, my present purpose is to put Guenevere out of your head: for in your heart I think she never was, old poet, who go so modestly in the Centaur’s shirt. Come, tell me now! and does the thought of her approaching marriage really disturb you?”

“I am the unhappiest man that breathes,” said Jurgen, with unction. “All night I lie awake in my tumbled bed, and think of the miserable day which is past, and of what is to happen in that equally miserable day whose dawn I watch with a sick heart. And I cry aloud, in the immortal words of Apollonius Myronides⁠—”

“Of whom?” says Merlin.

“I allude to the author of the Myrosis,” Jurgen explained⁠—“whom so many persons rashly identify with Apollonius Herophileius.”

“Oh, yes, of course! your quotation is very apt. Why, then your condition is sad but not incurable. For I am about to give you this token, with which, if you are bold enough, you will do thus and thus.”

“But indeed this is a somewhat strange token, and the arms and legs, and even the head, of this little man are remarkably alike! Well, and you tell me thus and thus. But how does it happen, Messire Merlin, that you have never used this token in the fashion you suggest to me?”

“Because I was afraid. You forget I am only a magician, whose conjuring raises nothing more formidable than devils. But this is a bit of the Old Magic that is no longer understood, and I prefer not to meddle with it. You, to the contrary, are a poet, and the Old Magic was always favorable to poets.”

“Well, I will think about it,” says Jurgen, “if this will really put Dame Guenevere out of my head.”

“Be assured it will do that,” said Merlin. “For with reason does the Dirghâgama declare, ‘The brightness of the glowworm cannot be compared to that of a lamp.’ ”

“A very pleasant little work, the Dirghâgama,” said Jurgen, tolerantly⁠—“though superficial, of course.”

Then Merlin Ambrosius gave Jurgen the token, and some advice.

So that night Jurgen told Guenevere he would not go in her train to London. He told her candidly that Merlin was suspicious of their intercourse.

“And therefore, in order to protect you and to protect your fame, my dearest dear,” said Jurgen, “it is necessary that I sacrifice myself and everything I prize in life. I shall suffer very much: but my consolation will be that I have dealt fairly with you whom I love with an entire heart, and shall have preserved you through my misery.”

But Guenevere did not appear to notice how noble this was of Jurgen. Instead, she wept very softly, in a heartbroken way that Jurgen found unbearable.

“For no man, whether emperor or peasant,” says the Princess, “has ever been loved more dearly or faithfully or more wholly without any reserve or forethought than you, my dearest, have been loved by me. All that I had I have given you. All that I had you have taken, consuming it. So now you leave me with not anything more to give you, not even any anger or contempt, now that you turn me adrift, for there is nothing in me anywhere save love of you, who are unworthy.”

“But I die many deaths,” said Jurgen, “when you speak thus to me.” And in point of fact, he did feel rather uncomfortable.

“I speak the truth, though. You have had all: and so you are a little weary, and perhaps a little afraid of what may happen if you do not break off with me.”

“Now you misjudge me, darling⁠—”

“No, I do not misjudge you, Jurgen. Instead, for the first time I judge both of us. You I forgive, because I love you, but myself I do not forgive, and I cannot ever forgive, for having been a spendthrift