The Cream of the Jest James Branch Cabell (recommended ebook reader TXT) đ
- Author: James Branch Cabell
Book online «The Cream of the Jest James Branch Cabell (recommended ebook reader TXT) đ». Author James Branch Cabell
âWell! it was scarcely heavenâs name that was invoked there, if old tales are to be trusted. Traditionally, the Sabbat was a meeting attended by all witches in satisfactory diabolical standing, lightly attired in smears of various magical ointments; and their vehicle of transportation to this outing was, of course, the traditional broomstick. Good Friday,â I continued, seeing they all seemed willing enough to listen, âwas the favorite date for these gatherings, which were likewise sometimes held on St. Johnâs Eve, on Walburgaâs Eve, and on Halloweâen Night. The diversions were numerous: there was feasting, music, and dancing, with the devil performing obligatos on the pipes or a cittern, and not infrequently preaching a burlesque sermon. He usually attended in the form of a monstrous goat; and whenâ âwhen not amorously inclined, often thrashed the witches with their own broomsticks. The more practical pursuits of the evening included the opening of graves, to despoil dead bodies of finger- and toe-joints, and certain portions of the winding-sheet, with which to prepare a powder that had strange uses.â ââ ⊠But the less said of that, the better. Here, also, the devil taught his disciples how to make and christen statues of wax, so that by roasting these effigies the persons whose names they bore would be wasted away by sickness.â
âI see,â says Kennaston, intently regarding his fingernails: âthey must have been highly enjoyable social outings, all around.â
âThey must have been worse than family reunions,â put in Mrs. Kennaston, and affected to shudder.
âIndeed, there are certain points of resemblance,â I conceded, âin the general atmosphere of jealous hostility and the ruthless digging-up of what were better left buried.â
Then Kennaston asked carelessly, âBut how could such absurd superstitions ever get any hold on people, do you suppose?â
âThat would require rather a lengthy explanationâ âWhy, no,â I protested, in answer to his shrug; âthe Sabbat is not inexplicable. Hahn-Kraftnerâs book, or Herbert Perlinâs either, will give you a very fair notion of what the Sabbat really wasâ âsomething not in the least grotesque, but infinitely more awe-inspiring than is hinted by any traditions in popular use. And Le Bret, whom bookdealers rightly list as âcuriousââ ââ
âYes. I have read those books, it happens. My uncle had them, you know. Butââ âKennaston was plainly not quite at easeâ ââbut, after all, is it not more wholesome to dismiss such theories as fantastic nonsense, even if they are perfectly true?â
âWhy, not of necessity,â said I. âAs touches what we call the âoccult,â delusion after delusion has been dissipated, of course, and much jubilant pother made over the advance in knowledge. But the last of his delusions, which man has yet to relinquish, is that he invented them. This too must be surrendered with time; and already we are beginning to learn that many of these wild errors are the illegitimate children of grave truths. Science now looks with new respect on folkloreâ ââ
âMr. Kennaston,â says Moira, laughing, âI warn you, if you start Dick on his hobbies, he will talk us all to death. So, come into the house, and I will mix you two men a drink.â
And we obeyed her, andâ âsomehowâ âgot to talking of the recent thunderstorms, and getting in our hay, and kindred topics.
Yes, it was much the usual sort of late-afternoon call customarily exchanged by country neighbors. I remember Moiraâs yawning as she closed the cellarette, and her wondering how Mrs. Kennaston could keep on rouging and powdering at her age, and why Kennaston never had anything in particular to say for himself?
âDo you suppose it is because he has a swelled head over his little old book, or is he just naturally stupid?â she wanted to know.
Book SixthâAlas! the sprite that haunts us
Deceives our rash desire;
It whispers of the glorious gods,
And leaves us in the mire:
We cannot learn the cipher
Inscribed upon our cell;
Stars taunt us with a mystery
Which we lack lore to spell.â
Such as has been described was now Felix Kennastonâs manner of living, which, as touches utilitarian ends, it might be wiser forthwith to dismiss as bred by the sickly fancies of an idle man bemused with unprofitable reading. By day his half of the sigil lay hidden in the library, under a pile of unused bookplates. But nightly this bit of metal was taken with him to bed, in order that, when held so as to reflect the candlelightâ âfor this was always necessaryâ âit might induce the desired dream of Ettarre; and that, so, Horvendile would be freed of Felix Kennaston for eight hours uninterruptedly.
In our social ordering Felix Kennaston stayed worthy of consideration in Lichfield, both as a celebrity of sorts and as the owner of four bank-accounts; and colloquially, as likewise has been recorded, he was by ordinary dismissed from our patronizing discussion as having long been âqueer,â and in all probability âa dope-fiend,â In Lichfield, as elsewhere, a manâs difference from his fellows cannot comfortably be conceded except by assuming the difference to be to his discredit.
Meanwhile, the Felix Kennaston who owned two motors and had money in four banks, went with his wife about their round of decorous social duties; and the same Felix Kennaston, with leisured joy in the task, had completed The Tinctured Veilâ âwhich, as you now know, was woven from the dreamstuff Horvendile had fetched out of that fair countryâ âvery far from Lichfieldâ âwhich is bounded by Avalon and PhĂŠacia and Seacoast Bohemia, and the contiguous forests of Arden and Broceliande, and on the west of course by the Hesperides.
Then, just before The Tinctured Veil was published, an accident happened.
Fate, as always frugal of display, used simple tools. Kennaston, midway in dressing, found he had no more mouthwash. He went into his wifeâs bathroom, in search of a fresh bottle. Kathleen was in Lichfield for the afternoon, at a card party; and thus it was brought about that Kennaston found, lying in the corner of
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