s 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."

XLV

ANTI-IBANEZ

While on the subject of books which we read because we think we ought
to, and while Vicente Blasco Ibanez is on the ocean and can't hear what
is being said, let's form a secret society.

I will be one of any three to meet behind a barn and admit that I would
not give a good gosh darn if a fortune-teller were to tell me tomorrow
that I should never, never have a chance to read another book by the
great Spanish novelist.

Any of the American reading public who desire to join this secret
society may do so without fear of publicity, as the names will not be
given out. The only means of distinguishing a fellow-member will be a
tiny gold emblem, to be worn in the lapel, representing the figure
(couchant) of Spain's most touted animal. The motto will be
"Nimmermehr," which is a German translation of the Spanish phrase "Not
even once again."

* * * * *

Simply because I myself am not impressed by a book, I have no authority
to brand anyone who does not like it as a poseur and say that he is
only making believe that he likes it. And there must be a great many
highly literary people who really and sincerely do think that Senor
Blasco's books are the finest novels of the epoch.

It would therefore be presumptuous of me to say that Spain is now, for
the first time since before 1898, in a position to kid the United States
and, vicariously through watching her famous son count his royalties and
gate receipts, to feel avenged for the loss of her islands. If America
has found something superfine in Ibanez that his countrymen have missed,
then America is of course to be congratulated and not kidded.

But probably no one was more surprised than Blasco when he suddenly
found himself a lion in our literary arena instead of in his accustomed
role of bull in his home ring. And those who know say that you could
have knocked his compatriots over with a feather when the news came that
old man Ibanez's son had made go