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

that I have been roused to indignation by his Historia de Bello Veneris⁠—”

“You surprise me: still⁠—”

“⁠—Shocked by his Pornoboscodidascolo⁠—”

“I can hardly believe it: even so, you must grant⁠—”

“⁠—And horrified by his Liber de immortalitate Mentulæ⁠—”

“Well, conceding you that earlier work, sir, yet, at the same time⁠—”

“⁠—And have been disgusted by his De modo coeundi⁠—”

“Ah, but, none the less⁠—”

“⁠—And have shuddered over the unspeakable enormities of his Erotopægnion! of his Cinædica! and especially of his Epipedesis, that most pestilential and abominable book, quem sine horrore nemo potest legere⁠—”

“Still, you cannot deny⁠—”

“⁠—And have read also all the confutations of this detestable Gowlais: as those of Zanchius, Faventinus, Lelius Vincentius, Lagalla, Thomas Giaminus, and eight other admirable commentators⁠—”

“You are very exact, sir: but⁠—”

“⁠—And that, in short, I have read every book you can imagine,” says the priest of Sesphra.

The shoulders of Jurgen rose to his ears, and Jurgen silently flung out his hands, palms upward.

“For, I perceive,” says Jurgen, to himself, “that this Realist is too circumstantial for me. None the less, he invents his facts: it is by citing books which never existed that he publicly confutes the Gowlais whom I invented privately: and that is not fair. Now there remains only one chance for Jurgen; but luckily that chance is sure.”

“Why are you fumbling in your pocket?” asks the old priest of Ageus, fidgeting and peering.

“Aha, you may well ask!” cried Jurgen. He unfolded the cantrap which had been given him by the Master Philologist, and which Jurgen had treasured against the time when more was needed than a glib tongue. “O most unrighteous judges,” says Jurgen, sternly, “now hear and tremble! ‘At the death of Adrian the Fifth, Pedro Juliani, who should be named John the Twentieth, was through an error in the reckoning elevated to the papal chair as John the Twenty-first!’ ”

“Hah, and what have we to do with that?” inquired the priest of Vel-Tyno, with raised eyebrows. “Why are you telling us of these irrelevant matters?”

“Because I thought it would interest you,” said Jurgen. “It was a fact that appeared to me rather amusing. So I thought I would mention it.”

“Then you have very queer ideas of amusement,” they told him. And Jurgen perceived that either he had not employed his cantrap correctly or else that its magic was unappreciated by the leaders of Philistia.

XXXIII Farewell to Chloris

Now the Philistines led out their prisoners, and made ready to inflict the doom which was decreed. And they permitted the young King of Eubonia to speak with Chloris.

“Farewell to you now, Jurgen!” says Chloris, weeping softly. “It is little I care what foolish words these priests of Philistia may utter against me. But the big-armed axemen are felling my tree yonder, to get them timber to make a bedstead for the Queen of Philistia: for that is what this Queen Dolores ordered them to do the first thing this morning.”

And Jurgen raised his hands. “You women!” he said. “What man would ever have thought of that?”

“So when my tree is felled I must depart into a sombre land wherein there is no laughter at all; and where the puzzled dead go wandering futilely through fields of scentless asphodel, and through tall sullen groves of myrtle⁠—the puzzled quiet dead, who may not even weep as I do now, but can only wonder what it is that they regret. And I too must taste of Lethê, and forget all I have loved.”

“You should give thanks to the imagination of your forefathers, my dear, that your doom is no worse. For I am going into a more barbaric limbo, into the Hell of a people who thought entirely too much about flames and pitchforks,” says Jurgen, ruefully. “I tell you it is the deuce and all, to come of morbid ancestry.” And he kissed Chloris, upon the brow. “My dear, dear girl,” he said, with a gulp, “as long as you remember me, do so with charity.”

“Jurgen”⁠—and she clung close to him⁠—“you were not ever unkind, not even for a moment. Jurgen, you have not ever spoken one harsh word to me or any other person, in all the while we were together. O Jurgen, whom I have loved as you could love nobody, it was not much those other women had left me to worship!”

“Indeed, it is a pity that you loved me, Chloris, for I was not worthy.” And for the instant Jurgen meant it.

“If any other person said that, Jurgen, I would be very angry. And even to hear you say it troubles me, because there was never a hamadryad between two hills that had a husband one-half so clever-foolish as he made light of time and chance, with his sleek black head cocked to one side, and his mischievous brown eyes a-twinkle.”

And Jurgen wondered that this should be the notion Chloris had of him, and that a gesture should be the things she remembered about him: and he was doubly assured that no woman bothers to understand the man she elects to love and cosset and slave for.

“O woman dear,” says Jurgen, “but I have loved you, and my heart is water now that you are taken from me: and to remember your ways and the joy I had in them will be a big and grinding sorrow in the long time to come. Oh, not with any heroic love have I loved you, nor with any madness and high dreams, nor with much talking either; but with a love befitting my condition, with a quiet and cordial love.”

“And must you be trying, while I die, to get your grieving for me into the right words?” she asks him, smiling very sadly. “No matter: you are Jurgen, and I have loved you. And I am glad that I shall know nothing about it when in the long time, to come you will