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

and they stepped over it. Then Florimel said “Temon!” thrice, and nine times did Jurgen reply “Arigizator!” Afterward the Emperor Jurgen and his bride were given a posset of dudaïm and eruca, and the devils modestly withdrew.

Thereafter Jurgen abode in Hell, and complied with the customs of that country, and was tolerably content for a while. Now Jurgen shared with Florimel that quiet cleft which she had fitted out in imitation of her girlhood home: and they lived in the suburbs of Barathum, very respectably, by the shore of the sea. There was, of course, no water in Hell; indeed the importation of water was forbidden, under severe penalties, in view of its possible use for baptismal purposes: this sea was composed of the blood that had been shed by piety in furthering the kingdom of the Prince of Peace, and was reputed to be the largest ocean in existence. And it explained the nonsensical saying which Jurgen had so often heard, as to Hell’s being paved with good intentions.

“For Epigenes of Rhodes is right, after all,” said Jurgen, “in suggesting a misprint: and the word should be ‘laved.’ ”

“Why, to be sure, your majesty,” assented Florimel: “ah, but I always said your majesty had remarkable powers of penetration, quite apart from your majesty’s scholarship.”

For Florimel had this cajoling way of speaking. None the less, all vampires have their foibles, and are nourished by the vigor and youth of their lovers. So one morning Florimel complained of being unwell, and attributed it to indigestion.

Jurgen stroked her head meditatively; then he opened his glittering shirt, and displayed what was plain enough to see.

“I am full of vigor and I am young,” said Jurgen, “but my vigor and my youthfulness are of a peculiar sort, and are not wholesome. So let us have no more of your tricks, or you will quite spoil your vacation by being very ill indeed.”

“But I had thought all emperors were human!” said Florimel, in a flutter of blushing penitence, exceedingly pretty to observe.

“Even so, sweetheart, all emperors are not Jurgens,” he replied, magnificently. “Therefore you will find that not every emperor is justly styled the father of his people, or is qualified by nature to wield the sceptre of Noumaria. I trust this lesson will suffice.”

“It will,” said Florimel, with a wry face.

So thereafter they had no further trouble of this sort, and the wound on Jurgen’s breast was soon healed.

And Jurgen kept away from the damned, of course, because he and Florimel were living respectably. They paid a visit to Jurgen’s father, however, very shortly after they were married, because this was the proper thing to do. And Coth was civil enough, for Coth, and voiced a hope that Florimel might have a good influence upon Jurgen and make him worth his salt, but did not pretend to be optimistic. Yet this visit was never returned, because Coth considered his wickedness was too great for him to be spared a moment of torment, and so would not leave his flame.

“And really, your majesty,” said Florimel, “I do not wish for an instant to have the appearance of criticizing your majesty’s relatives. But I do think that your majesty’s father might have called upon us, at least once, particularly after I offered to have a fire made up for him to sit on any time he chose to come. I consider that your majesty’s father assumes somewhat extravagant airs, in the lack of any definite proof as to his having been a bit more wicked than anybody else: and the childlike candor which has always been with me a leading characteristic prevents concealment of my opinion.”

“Oh, it is just his conscience, dear.”

“A conscience is all very well in its place, your majesty; and I, for one, would never have been able to endure the interminable labor of seducing and assassinating so many fine young fellows if my conscience had not assured me that it was all the fault of my sister-in-law. But, even so, there is no sense in letting your conscience make a slave of you: and when conscience reduces your majesty’s father to ignoring the rules of common civility and behaving like a candlewick, I am sure that matters are being carried too far.”

“And right you are, my dear. However, we do not lack for company. So come now, make yourself fine, and shake the black dog from your back, for we are spending the evening with the Asmodeuses.”

“And will your majesty talk politics again?”

“Oh, I suppose so. They appear to like it.”

“I only wish that I did, your majesty,” observed Florimel, and she yawned by anticipation.

For with the devils Jurgen got on garrulously. The religion of Hell is patriotism, and the government is an enlightened democracy. This contented the devils, and Jurgen had learned long ago never to fall out with either of these codes, without which, as the devils were fond of observing, Hell would not be what it is.

They were, to Jurgen’s finding, simple-minded fiends who allowed themselves to be deplorably overworked by the importunate dead. They got no rest because of the damned, who were such persons as had been saddled with a conscience, and who in consequence demanded interminable torments. And at the time of Jurgen’s coming into Hell political affairs were in a very bad way, because there was a considerable party among the younger devils who were for compounding the age-old war with Heaven, at almost any price, in order to get relief from this unceasing influx of conscientious dead persons in search of torment. For it was well-known that when Satan submitted to be bound in chains there would be no more death: and the annoying immigration would thus be ended. So said the younger devils: and considered Grandfather Satan ought to sacrifice himself for the general welfare.

Then too they pointed out that Satan had been perforce their presiding magistrate ever since the settlement of Hell, because a change of administration is inexpedient in wartime: so that