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

“Was it for that reason you did not praise Pandelis and her Mondays with the other Léshy?”

“Why, to be sure,” said Jurgen, glibly. “I did not find it at all praiseworthy that such an insignificant Léshy as Pandelis should name her day after the Moon: to me it seemed blasphemy.” Then Jurgen coughed, and looked sidewise at his shadow. “Had it been Sereda, now, the case would have been different, and the Moon might well have appreciated the delicate compliment.”

Anaïtis appeared relieved. “I shall report your explanation. Candidly, there were ill things in store for you, Prince Jurgen, because your language was misunderstood. But that which you now say puts quite a different complexion upon matters.”

Jurgen laughed, not understanding the mystery, but confident he could always say whatever was required of him.

“Now let us see a little more of Cocaigne!” cries Jurgen.

For Jurgen was greatly interested by the pursuits of Cocaigne, and for a week or ten days participated therein industriously. Anaïtis, who reported the Moon’s honor to be satisfied, now spared no effort to divert him, and they investigated innumerable pastimes together.

“For all men that live have but a little while to live,” said Anaïtis, “and none knows his fate thereafter. So that a man possesses nothing certainly save a brief loan of his body: and yet the body of man is capable of much curious pleasure. As thus and thus,” says Anaïtis. And she revealed devices to her Prince Consort.

For Jurgen found that unknowingly he had in due and proper form espoused Queen Anaïtis, by participating in the Breaking of the Veil, which is the marriage ceremony of Cocaigne. His earlier relations with Dame Lisa had, of course, no legal standing in Cocaigne, where the Church is not Christian and the Law is, Do that which seems good to you.

“Well, when in Rome,” said Jurgen, “one must be romantic. But certainly this proves that nobody ever knows when he is being entrapped into respectability: and never did a fine young fellow marry a high queen with less premeditation.”

“Ah, my dear,” says Anaïtis, “you were controlled by the finger of Fate.”

“I do not altogether like that figure of speech. It makes one seem too trivial, to be controlled by a mere finger. No, it is not quite complimentary to call what prompted me a finger.”

“By the long arm of coincidence, then.”

“Much more appropriate, my love,” says Jurgen, complacently: “it sounds more dignified, and does not wound my self esteem.”

Now this Anaïtis who was Queen of Cocaigne was a delicious tall dark woman, thinnish, and lovely, and very restless. From the first her new Prince Consort was puzzled by her fervors, and presently was fretted by them. He humbly failed to understand how anyone could be so frantic over Jurgen. It seemed unreasonable. And in her more affectionate moments this nature myth positively frightened him: for transports such as these could not but rouse discomfortable reminiscences of the female spider, who ends such recreations by devouring her partner.

“Thus to be loved is very flattering,” he would reflect, “and I again am Jurgen, asking odds of none. But even so, I am mortal. She ought to remember that, in common fairness.”

Then the jealousy of Anaïtis, while equally flattering, was equally out of reason. She suspected everybody, seemed assured that every bosom cherished a mad passion for Jurgen, and that not for a moment could he be trusted. Well, as Jurgen frankly conceded, his conduct toward Stella, that ill-starred yogini of Indawadi, had in point of fact displayed, when viewed from an especial and quite unconscionable point of view, an aspect which, when isolated by persons judging hastily, might, just possibly, appear to approach remotely, in one or two respects, to temporary forgetfulness of Anaïtis, if indeed there were people anywhere so mentally deficient as to find such forgetfulness conceivable.

But the main thing, the really important feature, which Anaïtis could not be made to understand, was that she had interrupted her consort in what was, in effect, a philosophical experiment, necessarily attempted in the dark. The mantras requisite to the sacti sodhana were always performed in darkness: everybody knew that. For the rest, this Stella had asserted so-and-so; in simple equity she was entitled to a chance to prove her allegations if she could: so Jurgen had proceeded to deal fairly with her. Besides, why keep talking about this Stella, after a vengeance so spectacular and thorough as that to which Anaïtis had out of hand resorted? why keep reverting to a topic which was repugnant to Jurgen and visibly upset the dearest nature myth in all legend? Was it quite fair to anyone concerned? That was the sensible way in which Jurgen put it.

Still, he became honestly fond of Anaïtis. Barring her eccentricities when roused to passion, she was a generous and kindly creature, although in Jurgen’s opinion somewhat narrow-minded.

“My love,” he would say to her, “you appear positively unable to keep away from virtuous persons! You are always seeking out the people who endeavor to be upright and straightforward, and you are perpetually laying plans to divert these people. Ah, but why bother about them? What need have you to wear yourself out, and to devote your entire time to such proselitizing, when you might be so much more agreeably employed? You should learn, in justice to yourself as well as to others, to be tolerant of all things; and to acknowledge that in a being of man’s mingled nature a strain of respectability is apt to develop every now and then, whatever you might prefer.”

But Anaïtis had high notions as to her mission, and merely told him that he ought not to speak with levity of such matters. “I would be much happier staying at home with you and the children,” she would say, “but I feel that it is my duty⁠—”

“And your duty to whom, in heaven’s name?”

“Please do not employ such distasteful expressions, Jurgen. It is my duty to the power I serve,