Of course it was silly to suppress “Jurgen.” That goes without saying. But it seems equally silly, because of its being suppressed, to hail it as high art. It is simply Mr. James Branch Cabell’s quaint way of telling a raw story and it isn’t particularly his own way, either. Personally, I like the modern method much better.

“Jurgen” is a frank imitation of the old-time pornographers and although it is a very good imitation, it need not rank Mr. Cabell any higher than the maker of a plaster-of-paris copy of some Boeotian sculptural oddity.

The author, in defense of his fortunate book, lifts his eyebrows and says, “Honi soit.” He claims, and quite rightly, that everything he has written has at least one decent meaning, and that anyone who reads anything indecent into it automatically convicts himself of being in a pathological condition. The question is, if Mr. Cabell had been convinced beforehand that nowhere in all this broad land would there be anyone who would read another meaning into his lily-white words, would he ever have bothered to write the book at all?

Mr. Cabell is admittedly a genealogist. He is an earnest student of the literature of past centuries. He has become so steeped in the phrases and literary mannerisms of the middle and upper-middle ages that, even in his book of modern essays “Beyond Life,” he is constantly emitting strange words which were last used by the correspondents who covered the crusades. No man has to be as artificially obsolete as Mr. Cabell is. He likes to be.

In “Jurgen” he has simply let himself go. There is no pretense of writing like a modern. There is no pretense of writing in the style of even James Branch Cabell. It is frankly “in the manner of” those ancient authors whose works are sold surreptitiously to college students by gentlemen who whisper their selling-talk behind a line of red sample bindings. And it is not in the manner of Rabelais, although Rabelais’s name has been frequently used in describing “Jurgen.” Rabelais seldom hid his thought behind two meanings. There was only one meaning, and you could take it or leave it. And Rabelais would never have said “Honi soit” by way of defense.

The general effect is one of Fielding or Sterne telling the story of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, with their own embellishments, to the boys at the club.

If all that is necessary to produce a work of art is to take a drummer’s story and tell it in dusty English, we might try our luck with the modern smoking-car yarn about the traveling-man who came to the country hotel late at night, and see how far we can get with it in the manner of James Branch Cabell imitating Fielding imitating someone else.

It is a tale which they narrate in Nouveau Rochelle, saying: In the old days there came one night a traveling man to an inn, and the night was late, and he was sore beset, what with rag-tag-and-bob-tail. Eftsoons he made known his wants to the churl behind the desk, who was named Gogyrvan. And thus he spake:

“Any rooms?”

“Indeed, sir, no,” was Gogyrvan’s glose.

“Now but this is an deplorable thing, God wot,” says the traveling man. “Fie, brother, but you think awry. Come, don smart your thinking-cap and answer me again. An’ you have forgot my query; it was: ’Any rooms, bo?’”

Whereat the churl behind the desk gat him down from his stool and closed one eye in a wink.

“There is one room,” he says, and places his forefinger along the side of his nose, in the manner of a man who places his forefinger along the side of his nose.

But at this point I am stopped short by the warning passage through the room of a cold, damp current of air as from the grave, and I know that it is one of Mr. Sumner’s vice deputies flitting by on his rounds in defense of the public morals. So I can go no further, for public morals must be defended even at the cost of public morality (a statement which means nothing but which sounds rather well, I think. I shall try to work it in again some time).

But perhaps enough has been said to show that it is perfectly easy to write something that will sound classic if you can only remember enough old words. When Mr. Cabell has learned the language, he ought to write a good book in modern English. There are lots of people who read it and they speak very highly of it as a means of expression.

But there are certain things that you cannot express in it without sounding crass, which would be a disadvantage in telling a story like “Jurgen.”