/0/4686/coverbig.jpg?v=20210813185614&imageMogr2/format/webp)
This is a pre-1923 historical reproduction that was curated for quality. Quality assurance was conducted on each of these books in an attempt to remove books with imperfections introduced by the digitization process. Though we have made best efforts - the books may have occasional errors that do not impede the reading experience. We believe this work is culturally important and have elected to bring the book back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide.
The Eagle's Shadow Chapter 1 No.1
This is the story of Margaret Hugonin and of the Eagle. And with your
permission, we will for the present defer all consideration of the
bird, and devote our unqualified attention to Margaret.
I have always esteemed Margaret the obvious, sensible, most
appropriate name that can be bestowed upon a girl-child, for it is a
name that fits a woman--any woman--as neatly as her proper size in
gloves.
Yes, the first point I wish to make is that a woman-child, once
baptised Margaret, is thereby insured of a suitable name. Be she grave
or gay in after-life, wanton or pious or sullen, comely or otherwise,
there will be no possible chance of incongruity; whether she develop a
taste for winter-gardens or the higher mathematics, whether she take
to golf or clinging organdies, the event is provided for. One has only
to consider for a moment, and if among a choice of Madge, Marjorie,
Meta, Maggie, Margherita, Peggy, and Gretchen, and countless
others--if among all these he cannot find a name that suits her to a
T--why, then, the case is indeed desperate and he may permissibly
fall back upon Madam or--if the cat jump propitiously, and at his own
peril--on Darling or Sweetheart.
The second proof that this name must be the best of all possible names
is that Margaret Hugonin bore it. And so the murder is out. You may
suspect what you choose. I warn you in advance that I have no part
whatever in her story; and if my admiration for her given name appear
somewhat excessive, I can only protest that in this dissentient world
every one has a right to his own taste. I knew Margaret. I admired
her. And if in some unguarded moment I may have carried my admiration
to the point of indiscretion, her husband most assuredly knows all
about it, by this, and he and I are still the best of friends. So you
perceive that if I ever did so far forget myself it could scarcely
have amounted to a hanging matter.
I am doubly sure that Margaret Hugonin was beautiful, for the reason
that I have never found a woman under forty-five who shared my
opinion. If you clap a Testament into my hand, I cannot affirm that
women are eager to recognise beauty in one another; at the utmost they
concede that this or that particular feature is well enough. But when
a woman is clean-eyed and straight-limbed, and has a cheery heart,
she really cannot help being beautiful; and when Nature accords her
a sufficiency of dimples and an infectious laugh, I protest she is
well-nigh irresistible. And all these Margaret Hugonin had.
And surely that is enough.
I shall not endeavour, then, to picture her features to you in any
nicely picked words. Her chief charm was that she was Margaret.
And besides that, mere carnal vanities are trivial things; a gray
eye or so is not in the least to the purpose. Yet since it is the
immemorial custom of writer-folk to inventory such possessions of
their heroines, here you have a catalogue of her personal attractions.
Launce's method will serve our turn.
Imprimis, there was not very much of her--five feet three, at the
most; and hers was the well-groomed modern type that implies a
grandfather or two and is in every respect the antithesis of that
hulking Venus of the Louvre whom people pretend to admire. Item, she
had blue eyes; and when she talked with you, her head drooped forward
a little. The frank, intent gaze of these eyes was very flattering
and, in its ultimate effect, perilous, since it led you fatuously to
believe that she had forgotten there were any other trousered beings
extant. Later on you found this a decided error. Item, she had a quite
incredible amount of yellow hair, that was not in the least like gold
or copper or bronze--I scorn the hackneyed similes of metallurgical
poets--but a straightforward yellow, darkening at the roots; and she
wore it low down on her neck in great coils that were held in place
by a multitude of little golden hair-pins and divers corpulent
tortoise-shell ones. Item, her nose was a tiny miracle of perfection;
and this was noteworthy, for you will observe that Nature, who is an
adept at eyes and hair and mouths, very rarely achieves a creditable
nose. Item, she had a mouth; and if you are a Gradgrindian with a
taste for hairsplitting, I cannot swear that it was a particularly
small mouth. The lips were rather full than otherwise; one saw in them
potentialities of heroic passion, and tenderness, and generosity, and,
if you will, temper. No, her mouth was not in the least like the pink
shoe-button of romance and sugared portraiture; it was manifestly
designed less for simpering out of a gilt frame or the dribbling of
stock phrases over three hundred pages than for gibes and laughter
and cheery gossip and honest, unromantic eating, as well as another
purpose, which, as a highly dangerous topic, I decline even to
mention.
There you have the best description of Margaret Hugonin that I am
capable of giving you. No one realises its glaring inadequacy more
acutely than I.
Furthermore, I stipulate that if in the progress of our comedy she
appear to act with an utter lack of reason or even common-sense--as
every woman worth the winning must do once or twice in a
lifetime--that I be permitted to record the fact, to set it down in
all its ugliness, nay, even to exaggerate it a little--all to the end
that I may eventually exasperate you and goad you into crying out,
"Come, come, you are not treating the girl with common justice!"
For, if such a thing were possible, I should desire you to rival even
me in a liking for Margaret Hugonin. And speaking for myself, I can
assure you that I have come long ago to regard her faults with the
same leniency that I accord my own.
/0/16781/coverorgin.jpg?v=22f36153ed9268b18b354c3496cce858&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/9395/coverorgin.jpg?v=aade9949e6d9d87464f16b303820319c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106649/coverorgin.jpg?v=bc013f9614b3e2840c7775fd23782e0e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/105661/coverorgin.jpg?v=8891a0623bd9040ee1a5a088c8d01558&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/62446/coverorgin.jpg?v=38761145c8767e855c4e9668ff55049b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/64977/coverorgin.jpg?v=02e092613713dd4e070d4c5259584f8c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106447/coverorgin.jpg?v=3f3287a2d4b0f0bdd81f9c491b55fa4b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106734/coverorgin.jpg?v=c7ef0ae7a01b8941d249a96e5d9ca057&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The Eagle's Shadow
James Branch Cabell
Literature
Chapter 1 No.1
30/11/2017
Chapter 2 No.2
30/11/2017
Chapter 3 No.3
30/11/2017
Chapter 4 No.4
30/11/2017
Chapter 5 No.5
30/11/2017
Chapter 6 No.6
30/11/2017
Chapter 7 No.7
30/11/2017
Chapter 8 No.8
30/11/2017
Chapter 9 No.9
30/11/2017
Chapter 10 No.10
30/11/2017
Chapter 11 No.11
30/11/2017
Chapter 12 No.12
30/11/2017
Chapter 13 No.13
30/11/2017
Chapter 14 No.14
30/11/2017
Chapter 15 No.15
30/11/2017
Chapter 16 No.16
30/11/2017
Chapter 17 No.17
30/11/2017
Chapter 18 No.18
30/11/2017
Chapter 19 No.19
30/11/2017
Chapter 20 No.20
30/11/2017
Chapter 21 No.21
30/11/2017
Chapter 22 No.22
30/11/2017
Chapter 23 No.23
30/11/2017
Chapter 24 No.24
30/11/2017
Chapter 25 No.25
30/11/2017
Chapter 26 No.26
30/11/2017
Chapter 27 No.27
30/11/2017
Chapter 28 No.28
30/11/2017
Chapter 29 No.29
30/11/2017
Chapter 30 No.30
30/11/2017
Chapter 31 No.31
30/11/2017
Chapter 32 No.32
30/11/2017
Chapter 33 No.33
30/11/2017
Other books by James Branch Cabell
More