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

when you began to yell at your father as though you were addressing an unreasonable person, it is my opinion that I know nothing whatever about Equinoxes! and do not care to know anything about Equinoxes, I would have you understand! and that the less said as to such disreputable topics the better, as I tell you to your face!”

And Jurgen groaned. “Here is a pretty father! If you had thought so, it would have happened. But you imagine me in a place like this, and have not sufficient fairness, far less paternal affection, to imagine me out of it.”

“I can only think of your well merited affliction, you quarrelsome scoundrel! and of the host of light women with whom you have sinned! and of the doom which has befallen you in consequence!”

“Well, at worst,” says Jurgen, “there are no women here. That ought to be a comfort to you.”

“I think there are women here,” snapped his father. “It is reputed that quite a number of women have had consciences. But these conscientious women are probably kept separate from us men, in some other part of Hell, for the reason that if they were admitted into Chorasma they would attempt to tidy the place and make it habitable. I know your mother would have been meddling out of hand.”

“Oh, sir, and must you still be finding fault with mother?”

“Your mother, Jurgen, was in many ways an admirable woman. But,” said Coth, “she did not understand me.”

“Ah, well, that may have been the trouble. Still, all this you say about women being here is mere guesswork.”

“It is not!” said Coth, “and I want none of your impudence, either. How many times must I tell you that?”

Jurgen scratched his ear reflectively. For he still remembered what Grandfather Satan had said, and Coth’s irritation seemed promising. “Well, but the women here are all ugly, I wager.”

“They are not!” said his father, angrily. “Why do you keep contradicting me?”

“Because you do not know what you are talking about,” says Jurgen, egging him on. “How could there be any pretty women in this horrible place? For the soft flesh would be burned away from their little bones, and the loveliest of queens would be reduced to a horrid cinder.”

“I think there are any number of vampires and succubi and such creatures, whom the flames do not injure at all, because these creatures are informed with an ardor that is unquenchable and is more hot than fire. And you understand perfectly what I mean, so there is no need for you to stand there goggling at me like a horrified abbess!”

“Oh, sir, but you know very well that I would have nothing to do with such unregenerate persons.”

“I do not know anything of the sort. You are probably lying to me. You always lied to me. I think you are on your way to meet a vampire now.”

“What, sir, a hideous creature with fangs and leathery wings!”

“No, but a very poisonous and seductively beautiful creature.”

“Come, now! you do not really think she is beautiful.”

“I do think so. How dare you tell me what I think and do not think!”

“Ah, well, I shall have nothing to do with her.”

“I think you will,” said his father: “ah, but I think you will be up to your tricks with her before this hour is out. For do I not know what emperors are? and do I not know you?”

And Coth fell to talking of Jurgen’s past, in the customary terms of a family squabble, such as are not very nicely repeatable elsewhere. And the fiends who had been tormenting Coth withdrew in embarrassment, and so long as Coth continued talking they kept out of earshot.

XXXVII Invention of the Lovely Vampire

So again Coth parted with his son in anger, and Jurgen returned again toward Barathum; and, whether or not it was a coincidence, Jurgen met precisely the vampire of whom he had inveigled his father into thinking. She was the most seductively beautiful creature that it would be possible for Jurgen’s father or any other man to imagine: and her clothes were orange-colored, for a reason sufficiently well known in Hell, and were embroidered everywhere with green fig-leaves.

“A good morning to you, madame,” says Jurgen, “and whither are you going?”

“Why, to no place at all, good youth. For this is my vacation, granted yearly by the Law of Kalki⁠—”

“And who is Kalki, madame?”

“Nobody as yet: but he will come as a stallion. Meanwhile his Law precedes him, so that I am spending my vacation peacefully in Hell, with none of my ordinary annoyances to bother me.”

“And what, madame, can they be?”

“Why, you must understand that it is little rest a vampire gets on earth, with so many fine young fellows like yourself going about everywhere eager to be destroyed.”

“But how, madame, did you happen to become a vampire if the life does not please you? And what is it that they call you?”

“My name, sir,” replied the vampire, sorrowfully, “is Florimel, because my nature no less than my person was as beautiful as the flowers of the field and as sweet as the honey which the bees (who furnish us with such admirable examples of industry) get out of these flowers. But a sad misfortune changed all this. For I chanced one day to fall ill and die (which, of course, might happen to anyone), and as my funeral was leaving the house the cat jumped over my coffin. That was a terrible misfortune to befall a poor dead girl so generally respected, and in wide demand as a seamstress; though, even then, the worst might have been averted had not my sister-in-law been of what they call a humane disposition and foolishly attached to the cat. So they did not kill it, and I, of course, became a vampire.”

“Yes, I can understand that was inevitable. Still, it seems hardly fair. I pity you, my dear.” And Jurgen sighed.

“I would prefer, sir, that you