Jurgen, James Branch Cabell [ebook reader computer .txt] 📗

He paused, considering the riddle: and his fingers fretted with the robe of violet-colored wool beneath which lay Queen Helen. “Yours is that beauty of which men know by fabulous report alone, and which they may not ever find, nor ever win to, quite. And for that beauty I have hungered always, even in childhood. Toward that beauty I have struggled always, but not quite wholeheartedly. That night forecast my life. I have hungered for you: and”⁠—Jurgen smiled here⁠—“and I have always stayed a passably good boy, lest I should beyond reason disturb my family. For to do that, I thought, would not be fair: and still I believe for me to have done that would have been unfair.”

He grimaced at this point: for Jurgen was finding his scruples inconveniently numerous.

“And now I think that what I do tonight is not quite fair to Chloris. And I do not know what thing it is that I desire, and the will of Jurgen is a feather in the wind. But I know that I would like to love somebody as Chloris loves me, and as so many women have loved me. And I know that it is you who have prevented this, Queen Helen, at every moment of my life since the disastrous moment when I first seemed to find your loveliness in the face of Madame Dorothy. It is the memory of your beauty, as I then saw it mirrored in the face of a jill-flirt, which has enfeebled me for such honest love as other men give women: and I envy these other men. For Jurgen has loved nothing⁠—not even you, not even Jurgen!⁠—quite wholeheartedly. Well, what if I took vengeance now upon this thieving comeliness, upon this robber that strips life of joy and sorrow?”

Jurgen stood at Queen Helen’s bedside, watching her, for a long while. He had shifted into a less fanciful mood: and the shadow that followed him was ugly and hulking and wavering upon the cedarn wall of Queen Helen’s sleeping-chamber.

“Mine is a magic which does not fail,” old Phobetor had said, while his attendants raised his eyelids so that he could see King Jurgen.

Now Jurgen remembered this. And reflectively he drew back the robe of violet-colored wool, a little way. The breast of Queen Helen lay bare. And she did not move at all, but she smiled in her sleep.

Never had Jurgen imagined that any woman could be so beautiful nor so desirable as this woman, or that he could ever know such rapture. So Jurgen paused.

“Because,” said Jurgen now, “it may be this woman has some fault: it may be there is some fleck in her beauty somewhere. And sooner than know that, I would prefer to retain my unreasonable dreams, and this longing which is unfed and hopeless, and the memory of tonight. Besides, if she were perfect in everything, how could I live any longer, who would have no more to desire? No, I would be betraying my own interests, either way; and injustice is always despicable.”

So Jurgen sighed and gently replaced the robe of violet-colored wool, and he returned to his Hamadryad.

“And now that I think of it, too,” reflected Jurgen, “I am behaving rather nobly. Yes, it is questionless that I have tonight evinced a certain delicacy of feeling which merits appreciation, at all events by King Achilles.”

So Jurgen abode in Leukê, and complied with the customs of that country; and what with one thing and another, he and Chloris made the time pass pleasantly enough, until the winter solstice was at hand. Now Pseudopolis, as has been said, was at war with Philistia: so it befell that at this season Leukê was invaded by an army of Philistines, led by their Queen Dolores, a woman who was wise but not entirely reliable. They came from the coast, a terrible army insanely clad in such garments as had been commanded by Ageus, a god of theirs; and chaunting psalms in honor of their god Vel-Tyno, who had inspired this crusade: thus they swept down upon Pseudopolis, and encamped before the city.

These Philistines fought in this campaign by casting before them a more horrible form of Greek fire, which consumed whatever was not gray-colored. For that color alone was now favored by their god Vel-Tyno. “And all other colors,” his oracles had decreed, “are forevermore abominable, until I say otherwise.”

So the forces of Philistia were marshalled in the plain before Pseudopolis, and Queen Dolores spoke to her troops. And smilingly she said:⁠—

“Whenever you come to blows with the enemy he will be beaten. No mercy will be shown, no prisoners taken. As the Philistines under Libnah and Goliath and Gershon, and a many other tall captains, made for themselves a name which is still mighty in traditions and legend, even thus today may the name of Realist be so fixed in Pseudopolis, by your deeds today, that no one shall ever dare again even to look askance at a Philistine. Open the door for Realism, once for all!”

Meanwhile within the city Achilles, King of Men, addressed his army:⁠—

“The eyes of all the world will be upon you, because you are in some especial sense the soldiers of Romance. Let it be your pride, therefore, to show all men everywhere, not only what good soldiers you are, but also what good men you are, keeping yourselves fit and straight in everything, and pure and clean through and through. Let us set ourselves a standard so high that it will be a glory to live up to it, and then let us live up to it, and add a new laurel to the crown of Pseudopolis. May the Gods of Old keep you and guide you!”

Then said Thersitês, in his beard: “Certainly Pelidês has learned from history with what weapon a strong man discomfits the Philistines.”

But the other kings applauded, and the trumpet was sounded, and the battle