- The Project Gutenberg -

JURGEN
A Comedy of Justice

by

JAMES BRANCH CABELL

1922
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jurgen, by James Branch Cabell
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Release Date: August, 2005 First Posted: August 12, 2003
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   "Of JURGEN eke they maken mencioun,

    That of an old wyf gat his youthe agoon,
    And gat himselfe a shirte as bright as fyre
    Wherein to jape, yet gat not his desire
    In any countrie ne condicioun."

TO BURTON RASCOE

     Before each tarradiddle,

   Uncowed by sciolists,
   Robuster persons twiddle
   Tremendously big fists.

     "Our gods are good," they tell us;

   "Nor will our gods defer
   Remission of rude fellows'
   Ability to err."

     So this, your JURGEN, travels

   Content to compromise
   Ordainments none unravels
   Explicitly … and sighs.

*****

"Others, with better moderation, do either entertain the vulgar history of Jurgen as a fabulous addition unto the
true and authentic story of St. Iurgenius of Poictesme, or else we conceive the literal acception to be a
misconstruction of the symbolical expression: apprehending a veritable history, in an emblem or piece of
Christian poesy. And this emblematical construction hath been received by men not forward to extenuate the acts
of saints."
—PHILIP BORSDALE

"A forced construction is very idle. If readers of The High History of Jurgen do not meddle with the allegory, the
allegory will not meddle with them. Without minding it at all, the whole is as plain as a pikestaff. It might as
well be pretended that we cannot see Poussin's pictures without first being told the allegory, as that the allegory
aids us in understanding Jurgen."
—E. NOEL CODMAN

"Too urbane to advocate delusion, too hale for the bitterness of irony, this fable of Jurgen is, as the world itself, a
book wherein each man will find what his nature enables him to see; which gives us back each his own image;
and which teaches us each the lesson that each of us desires to learn."
—JOHN FREDERICK LEWISTAM

*****

2
CONTENTS

A FOREWORD: WHICH ASSERTS NOTHING

I WHY JURGEN DID THE MANLY THING

II ASSUMPTION OF A NOTED GARMENT

III THE GARDEN BETWEEN DAWN AND SUNRISE

IV THE DOROTHY WHO DID NOT UNDERSTAND

V REQUIREMENTS OF BREAD AND BUTTER

VI SHOWING THAT SEREDA IS FEMININE

VII OF COMPROMISES ON A WEDNESDAY

VIII OLD TOYS AND A NEW SHADOW

IX THE ORTHODOX RESCUE OF GUENEVERE

X PITIFUL DISGUISES OF THRAGNAR

XI APPEARANCE OF THE DUKE OF LOGREUS

XII EXCURSUS OF YOLANDE'S UNDOING

XIII PHILOSOPHY OF GOGYRVAN GAWR

XIV PRELIMINARY TACTICS OF DUKE JURGEN

XV OF COMPROMISES IN GLATHION

XVI DIVERS IMBROGLIOS OF KING SMOIT

XVII ABOUT A COCK THAT CROWED TOO SOON

XVIII WHY MERLIN TALKED IN TWILIGHT

XIX THE BROWN MAN WITH QUEER FEET

XX EFFICACY OF PRAYER

XXI HOW ANAÏTIS VOYAGED

XXII AS TO A VEIL THEY BROKE

XXIII SHORTCOMINGS OF PRINCE JURGEN

XXIV OF COMPROMISES IN COCAIGNE

3
XXV CANTRAPS OF THE MASTER PHILOLOGIST

XXVI IN TIME'S HOUR-GLASS

XXVII VEXATIOUS ESTATE OF QUEEN HELEN

XXVIII OF COMPROMISES IN LEUKÊ

XXIX CONCERNING HORVENDILE'S NONSENSE

XXX ECONOMICS OF KING JURGEN

XXXI THE FALL OF PSEUDOPOLIS

XXXII SUNDRY DEVICES OF THE PHILISTINES

XXXIII FAREWELL TO CHLORIS

XXXIV HOW EMPEROR JURGEN FARED INFERNALLY

XXXV WHAT GRANDFATHER SATAN REPORTED

XXXVI WHY COTH WAS CONTRADICTED

XXXVII INVENTION OF THE LOVELY VAMPIRE

XXXVIII AS TO APPLAUDED PRECEDENTS

XXXIX OF COMPROMISES IN HELL

XL THE ASCENSION OF POPE JURGEN

XLI OF COMPROMISES IN HEAVEN

XLII TWELVE THAT ARE FRETTED HOURLY

XLIII POSTURES BEFORE A SHADOW

XLIV IN THE MANAGER'S OFFICE

XLV THE FAITH OF GUENEVERE

XLVI THE DESIRE OF ANAÏTIS

XLVII THE VISION OF HELEN

XLVIII CANDID OPINIONS OF DAME LISA

XLIX OF THE COMPROMISE WITH KOSHCHEI

L THE MOMENT THAT DID NOT COUNT

4
A FOREWORD
"Nescio quid certè est: et Hylax in limine latrat."

A Foreword: Which Asserts Nothing.

In Continental periodicals not more than a dozen articles in all would seem to have given
accounts or partial translations of the Jurgen legends. No thorough investigation of this epos
can be said to have appeared in print, anywhere, prior to the publication, in 1913, of the
monumental Synopses of Aryan Mythology by Angelo de Ruiz. It is unnecessary to observe
that in this exhaustive digest Professor de Ruiz has given (VII, p. 415 et sequentia) a
summary of the greater part of these legends as contained in the collections of Verville and
Bülg; and has discussed at length and with much learning the esoteric meaning of these folk-
stories and their bearing upon questions to which the "solar theory" of myth explanation has
given rise. To his volumes, and to the pages of Mr. Lewistam's Key to the Popular Tales of
Poictesme, must be referred all those who may elect to think of Jurgen as the resplendent,
journeying and procreative sun.

Equally in reading hereinafter will the judicious waive all allegorical interpretation, if merely
because the suggestions hitherto advanced are inconveniently various. Thus Verville finds the
Nessus shirt a symbol of retribution, where Bülg, with rather wide divergence, would have it
represent the dangerous gift of genius. Then it may be remembered that Dr. Codman says,
without any hesitancy, of Mother Sereda: "This Mother Middle is the world generally (an
obvious anagram of Erda es), and this Sereda rules not merely the middle of the working-days
but the midst of everything. She is the factor of middleness, of mediocrity, of an avoidance of
extremes, of the eternal compromise begotten by use and wont. She is the Mrs. Grundy of the
Léshy; she is Comstockery: and her shadow is common-sense." Yet Codman speaks with
certainly no more authority than Prote, when the latter, in his Origins of Fable, declares this
epos is "a parable of … man's vain journeying in search of that rationality and justice which
his nature craves, and discovers nowhere in the universe: and the shirt is an emblem of this
instinctive craving, as … the shadow symbolizes conscience. Sereda typifies a surrender to
life as it is, a giving up of man's rebellious self-centredness and selfishness: the anagram
being se dare."

Thus do interpretations throng and clash, and neatly equal the commentators in number. Yet
possibly each one of these unriddlings, with no doubt a host of others, is conceivable: so that
wisdom will dwell upon none of them very seriously.

With the origin and the occult meaning of the folklore of Poictesme this book at least is in no
wise concerned: its unambitious aim has been merely to familiarize English readers with the
Jurgen epos for the tale's sake. And this tale of old years is one which, by rare fortune, can be
given to English readers almost unabridged, in view of the singular delicacy and pure-
mindedness of the Jurgen mythos: in all, not more than a half-dozen deletions have seemed
expedient (and have been duly indicated) in order to remove such sparse and unimportant
outcroppings of mediæval frankness as might conceivably offend the squeamish.

5
Since this volume is presented simply as a story to be read for pastime, neither morality nor
symbolism is hereinafter educed, and no "parallels" and "authorities" are quoted. Even the
gaps are left unbridged by guesswork: whereas the historic and mythological problems
perhaps involved are relinquished to those really thoroughgoing scholars whom erudition
qualifies to deal with such topics, and tedium does not deter….

In such terms, and thus far, ran the Foreword to the first issues of this book, whose later
fortunes have made necessary the lengthening of the Foreword with a postscript. The needed
addition—this much at least chiming with good luck—is brief. It is just that fragment which
some scholars, since the first appearance of this volume, have asserted—upon what perfect
frankness must describe as not indisputable grounds—to be a portion of the thirty-second
chapter of the complete form of La Haulte Histoire de Jurgen.

And in reply to what these scholars assert, discretion says nothing. For this fragment was, of
course, unknown when the High History was first put into English, and there in consequence
appears, here, little to be won either by endorsing or denying its claims to authenticity. Rather,
does discretion prompt the appending, without any gloss or scholia, of this fragment, which
deals with

The Judging of Jurgen.

Now a court was held by the Philistines to decide whether or no King Jurgen should be
relegated to limbo. And when the judges were prepared for judging, there came into the court
a great tumblebug, rolling in front of him his loved and properly housed young ones. With the
creature came pages, in black and white, bearing a sword, a staff and a lance.

This insect looked at Jurgen, and its pincers rose erect in horror. The bug cried to the three
judges, "Now, by St. Anthony! this Jurgen must forthwith be relegated to limbo, for he is
offensive and lewd and lascivious and indecent."

"And how can that be?" says Jurgen.

"You are offensive," the bug replied, "because this page has a sword which I choose to say is
not a sword. You are lewd because that page has a lance which I prefer to think is not a lance.
You are lascivious because yonder page has a staff which I elect to declare is not a staff. And
finally, you are indecent for reasons of which a description would be objectionable to me, and
which therefore I must decline to reveal to anybody."

"Well, that sounds logical," says Jurgen, "but still, at the same time, it would be no worse for
an admixture of common-sense. For you gentlemen can see for yourselves, by considering
these pages fairly and as a whole, that these pages bear a sword and a lance and a staff, and
nothing else whatever; and you will deduce, I hope, that all the lewdness is in the insectival
mind of him who itches to be calling these things by other names."

The judges said nothing as yet. But they that guarded Jurgen, and all the other Philistines,
stood to this side and to that side with their eyes shut tight, and all these said: "We decline to
look at the pages fairly and as a whole, because to look might seem to imply a doubt of what
the tumblebug has decreed. Besides, as long as the tumblebug has reasons which he declines
to reveal, his reasons stay unanswerable, and you are plainly a prurient rascal who are making
trouble for yourself."

6
"To the contrary," says Jurgen, "I am a poet, and I make literature."

"But in Philistia to make literature and to make trouble for yourself are synonyms," the
tumblebug explained. "I know, for already we of Philistia have been pestered by three of these
makers of literature. Yes, there was Edgar, whom I starved and hunted until I was tired of it:
then I chased him up a back alley one night, and knocked out those annoying brains of his.
And there was Walt, whom I chivvied and battered from place to place, and made a paralytic
of him: and him, too, I labelled offensive and lewd and lascivious and indecent. Then later
there was Mark, whom I frightened into disguising himself in a clown's suit, so that nobody
might suspect him to be a maker of literature: indeed, I frightened him so that he hid away the
greater part of what he had made until after he was dead, and I could not get at him. That was
a disgusting trick to play on me, I consider. Still, these are the only three detected makers of
literature that have ever infested Philistia, thanks be to goodness and my vigilance, but for
both of which we might have been no more free from makers of literature than are the other
countries."

"Now, but these three," cried Jurgen, "are the glory of Philistia: and of all that Philistia has
produced, it is these three alone, whom living ye made least of, that to-day are honored
wherever art is honored, and where nobody bothers one way or the other about Philistia."

"What is art to me and my way of living?" replied the tumblebug, wearily. "I have no concern
with art and letters and the other lewd idols of foreign nations. I have in charge the moral
welfare of my young, whom I roll here before me, and trust with St. Anthony's aid to raise in
time to be God-fearing tumblebugs like me, delighting in what is proper to their nature. For
the rest, I have never minded dead men being well-spoken-of. No, no, my lad: once whatever
I may do means nothing to you, and once you are really rotten, you will find the tumblebug
friendly enough. Meanwhile I am paid to protest that living persons are offensive and lewd
and lascivious and indecent, and one must live."

Then the Philistines who stood to this side and to that side said in indignant unison: "And we,
the reputable citizenry of Philistia, are not at all in sympathy with those who would take any
protest against the tumblebug as a justification of what they are pleased to call art. The harm
done by the tumblebug seems to us very slight, whereas the harm done by the self-styled artist
may be very great."

Jurgen now looked more attentively at this queer creature: and he saw that the tumblebug was
malodorous, certainly, but at bottom honest and well-meaning; and this seemed to Jurgen the
saddest thing he had found among the Philistines. For the tumblebug was sincere in his insane
doings, and all Philistia honored him sincerely, so that there was nowhere any hope for this
people.

Therefore King Jurgen addressed himself, as his need was, to submit to the strange customs of
the Philistines. "Now do you judge me fairly," cried Jurgen to his judges, "if there be any
justice in this mad country. And if there be none, do you relegate me to limbo or to any other
place, so long as in that place this tumblebug is not omnipotent and sincere and insane."

And Jurgen waited….

7
*****

JURGEN

… amara lento temperet risu

1.

Why Jurgen Did the Manly Thing

It is a tale which they narrate in Poictesme, saying: In the 'old days lived a pawnbroker named
Jurgen; but what his wife called him was very often much worse than that. She was a high-
spirited woman, with no especial gift for silence. Her name, they say, was Adelais, but people
by ordinary called her Dame Lisa.

They tell, also, that in the old days, after putting up the shop-windows for the night, Jurgen
was passing the Cistercian Abbey, on his way home: and one of the monks had tripped over a
stone in the roadway. He was cursing the devil who had placed it there.

"Fie, brother!" says Jurgen, "and have not the devils enough to bear as it is?"

"I never held with Origen," replied the monk; "and besides, it hurt my great-toe
confoundedly."

"None the less," observes Jurgen, "it does not behoove God-fearing persons to speak with
disrespect of the divinely appointed Prince of Darkness. To your further confusion, consider
this monarch's industry! day and night you may detect him toiling at the task Heaven set him.
That is a thing can be said of few communicants and of no monks. Think, too, of his fine
artistry, as evidenced in all the perilous and lovely snares of this world, which it is your
business to combat, and mine to lend money upon. Why, but for him we would both be
vocationless! Then, too, consider his philanthropy! and deliberate how insufferable would be
our case if you and I, and all our fellow parishioners, were to-day hobnobbing with other
beasts in the Garden which we pretend to desiderate on Sundays! To arise with swine and lie
down with the hyena?—oh, intolerable!"

Thus he ran on, devising reasons for not thinking too harshly of the Devil. Most of it was an
abridgement of some verses Jurgen had composed, in the shop when business was slack.

"I consider that to be stuff and nonsense," was the monk's glose.

"No doubt your notion is sensible," observed the pawnbroker: "but mine is the prettier."

Then Jurgen passed the Cistercian Abbey, and was approaching

Bellegarde, when he met a black gentleman, who saluted him and said:

8
"Thanks, Jurgen, for your good word."

"Who are you, and why do you thank me?" asks Jurgen.

"My name is no great matter. But you have a kind heart, Jurgen. May your life be free from
care!"

"Save us from hurt and harm, friend, but I am already married."

"Eh, sirs, and a fine clever poet like you!"

"Yet it is a long while now since I was a practising poet."

"Why, to be sure! You have the artistic temperament, which is not exactly suited to the
restrictions of domestic life. Then I suppose your wife has her own personal opinion about
poetry, Jurgen."

"Indeed, sir, her opinion would not bear repetition, for I am sure you are unaccustomed to
such language."

"This is very sad. I am afraid your wife does not quite understand you, Jurgen."

"Sir," says Jurgen, astounded, "do you read people's inmost thoughts?"

The black gentleman seemed much dejected. He pursed his lips, and fell to counting upon his
fingers: as they moved his sharp nails glittered like flame-points.

"Now but this is a very deplorable thing," says the black gentleman, "to have befallen the first
person I have found ready to speak a kind word for evil. And in all these centuries, too! Dear
me, this is a most regrettable instance of mismanagement! No matter, Jurgen, the morning is
brighter than the evening. How I will reward you, to be sure!"

So Jurgen thanked the simple old creature politely. And when Jurgen reached home his wife
was nowhere to be seen. He looked on all sides and questioned everyone, but to no avail.
Dame Lisa had vanished in the midst of getting supper ready—suddenly, completely and
inexplicably, just as (in Jurgen's figure) a windstorm passes and leaves behind it a tranquillity
which seems, by contrast, uncanny. Nothing could explain the mystery, short of magic: and
Jurgen on a sudden recollected the black gentleman's queer promise. Jurgen crossed himself.

"How unjustly now," says Jurgen, "do some people get an ill name for gratitude! And now do
I perceive how wise I am, always to speak pleasantly of everybody, in this world of tale-
bearers."

Then Jurgen prepared his own supper, went to bed, and slept soundly.

"I have implicit confidence," says he, "in Lisa. I have particular confidence in her ability to
take care of herself in any surroundings."

That was all very well: but time passed, and presently it began to be rumored that Dame Lisa
walked on Morven. Her brother, who was a grocer and a member of the town-council, went

9
thither to see about this report. And sure enough, there was Jurgen's wife walking in the
twilight and muttering incessantly.

"Fie, sister!" says the town-councillor, "this is very unseemly conduct for a married woman,
and a thing likely to be talked about."

"Follow me!" replied Dame Lisa. And the town-councillor followed her a little way in the
dusk, but when she came to Amneran Heath and still went onward, he knew better than to
follow.

Next evening the elder sister of Dame Lisa went to Morven. This sister had married a notary,
and was a shrewd woman. In consequence, she took with her this evening a long wand of
peeled willow-wood. And there was Jurgen's wife walking in the twilight and muttering
incessantly.

"Fie, sister!" says the notary's wife, who was a shrewd woman, "and do you not know that all
this while Jurgen does his own sewing, and is once more making eyes at Countess Dorothy?"

Dame Lisa shuddered; but she only said, "Follow me!"

And the notary's wife followed her to Amneran Heath, and across the heath, to where a cave
was. This was a place of abominable repute. A lean hound came to meet them there in the
twilight, lolling his tongue: but the notary's wife struck thrice with her wand, and the silent
beast left them. And Dame Lisa passed silently into the cave, and her sister turned and went
home to her children, weeping.

So the next evening Jurgen himself came to Morven, because all his wife's family assured him
this was the manly thing to do. Jurgen left the shop in charge of Urien Villemarche, who was
a highly efficient clerk. Jurgen followed his wife across Amneran Heath until they reached the
cave. Jurgen would willingly have been elsewhere.

For the hound squatted upon his haunches, and seemed to grin at Jurgen; and there were other
creatures abroad, that flew low in the twilight, keeping close to the ground like owls; but they
were larger than owls and were more discomforting. And, moreover, all this was just after
sunset upon Walburga's Eve, when almost anything is rather more than likely to happen.

So Jurgen said, a little peevishly: "Lisa, my dear, if you go into the cave I will have to follow
you, because it is the manly thing to do. And you know how easily I take cold."

The voice of Dame Lisa, now, was thin and wailing, a curiously changed voice. "There is a
cross about your neck. You must throw that away."

Jurgen was wearing such a cross, through motives of sentiment, because it had once belonged
to his dead mother. But now, to pleasure his wife, he removed the trinket, and hung it on a
barberry bush; and with the reflection that this was likely to prove a deplorable business, he
followed Dame Lisa into the cave.

2.

10
Assumption of a Noted Garment

The tale tells that all was dark there, and Jurgen could see no one. But the cave stretched
straight forward, and downward, and at the far end was a glow of light. Jurgen went on and
on, and so came presently to a centaur: and this surprised him not a little, because Jurgen
knew that centaurs were imaginary creatures.

Certainly they were curious to look at: for here was the body of a fine bay horse, and rising
from its shoulders, the sun-burnt body of a young fellow who regarded Jurgen with grave and
not unfriendly eyes. The Centaur was lying beside a fire of cedar and juniper wood: near him
was a platter containing a liquid with which he was anointing his hoofs. This stuff, as the
Centaur rubbed it in with his fingers, turned the appearance of his hoofs to gold.

"Hail, friend," says Jurgen, "if you be the work of God."

"Your protasis is not good Greek," observed the Centaur, "because in Hellas we did not make
such reservations. Besides, it is not so much my origin as my destination which concerns
you."

"Well, friend, and whither are you going?"

"To the garden between dawn and sunrise, Jurgen."

"Surely, now, but that is a fine name for a garden! and it is a place I would take joy to be
seeing."

"Up upon my back, Jurgen, and I will take you thither," says the Centaur, and heaved to his
feet. Then said the Centaur, when the pawnbroker hesitated: "Because, as you must
understand, there is no other way. For this garden does not exist, and never did exist, in what
men humorously called real life; so that of course only imaginary creatures such as I can enter
it."

"That sounds very reasonable," Jurgen estimated: "but as it happens, I am looking for my
wife, whom I suspect to have been carried off by a devil, poor fellow!"

And Jurgen began to explain to the Centaur what had befallen.

The Centaur laughed. "It may be for that reason I am here. There is, in any event, only one
remedy in this matter. Above all devils—and above all gods, they tell me, but certainly above
all centaurs—is the power of Koshchei the Deathless, who made things as they are."

"It is not always wholesome," Jurgen submitted, "to speak of Koshchei. It seems especially
undesirable in a dark place like this."

"None the less, I suspect it is to him you must go for justice."

"I would prefer not doing that," said Jurgen, with unaffected candor.

11
"You have my sympathy: but there is no question of preference where Koshchei is concerned.
Do you think, for example, that I am frowzing in this underground place by my own choice?
and knew your name by accident?"

Jurgen was frightened, a little. "Well, well! but it is usually the deuce and all, this doing of the
manly thing. How, then, can I come to Koshchei?"

"Roundabout," says the Centaur. "There is never any other way."

"And is the road to this garden roundabout?"

"Oh, very much so, inasmuch as it circumvents both destiny and common-sense."

"Needs must, then," says Jurgen: "at all events, I am willing to taste any drink once."

"You will be chilled, though, traveling as you are. For you and I are going a queer way, in
search of justice, over the grave of a dream and through the malice of time. So you had best
put on this shirt above your other clothing."

"Indeed it is a fine snug shining garment, with curious figures on it. I accept such raiment
gladly. And whom shall I be thanking for his kindness, now?"

"My name," said the Centaur, "is Nessus."

"Well, then, friend Nessus, I am at your service."

And in a trice Jurgen was on the Centaur's back, and the two of them had somehow come out
of the cave, and were crossing Amneran Heath. So they passed into a wooded place, where
the light of sunset yet lingered, rather unaccountably. Now the Centaur went westward. And
now about the pawnbroker's shoulders and upon his breast and over his lean arms glittered
like a rainbow the many-colored shirt of Nessus.

For a while they went through the woods, which were composed of big trees standing a
goodish distance from one another, with the Centaur's gilded hoofs rustling and sinking in a
thick carpet of dead leaves, all gray and brown, in level stretches that were unbroken by any
undergrowth. And then they came to a white roadway that extended due west, and so were
done with the woods. Now happened an incredible thing in which Jurgen would never have
believed had he not seen it with his own eyes: for now the Centaur went so fast that he gained
a little by a little upon the sun, thus causing it to rise in the west a little by a little; and these
two sped westward in the glory of a departed sunset. The sun fell full in Jurgen's face as he
rode straight toward the west, so that he blinked and closed his eyes, and looked first toward
this side, then the other. Thus it was that the country about him, and the persons they were
passing, were seen by him in quick bright flashes, like pictures suddenly transmuted into other
pictures; and all his memories of this shining highway were, in consequence, always confused
and incoherent.

He wondered that there seemed to be so many young women along the road to the garden.
Here was a slim girl in white teasing a great brown and yellow dog that leaped about her
clumsily; here a girl sat in the branches of a twisted and gnarled tree, and back of her was a
broad muddied river, copper-colored in the sun; and here shone the fair head of a tall girl on

12
horseback, who seemed to wait for someone: in fine, the girls along the way were numberless,
and Jurgen thought he recollected one or two of them.

But the Centaur went so swiftly that Jurgen could not be sure.

3.

The Garden between Dawn and Sunrise

Thus it was that Jurgen and the Centaur came to the garden between dawn and sunrise,
entering this place in a fashion which it is not convenient to record. But as they passed over
the bridge three fled before them, screaming. And when the life had been trampled out of the
small furry bodies which these three had misused, there was none to oppose the Centaur's
entry into the garden between dawn and sunrise.

This was a wonderful garden: yet nothing therein was strange. Instead, it seemed that
everything hereabouts was heart-breakingly familiar and very dear to Jurgen. For he had come
to a broad lawn which slanted northward to a well-remembered brook: and multitudinous
maples and locust-trees stood here and there, irregularly, and were being played with very
lazily by an irresolute west wind, so that foliage seemed to toss and ripple everywhere like
green spray: but autumn was at hand, for the locust-trees were dropping a Danaë's shower of
small round yellow leaves. Around the garden was an unforgotten circle of blue hills. And this
was a place of lucent twilight, unlit by either sun or stars, and with no shadows anywhere in
the diffused faint radiancy that revealed this garden, which is not visible to any man except in
the brief interval between dawn and sunrise.

"Why, but it is Count Emmerick's garden at Storisende," says Jurgen, "where I used to be
having such fine times when I was a lad."

"I will wager," said Nessus, "that you did not use to walk alone in this garden."

"Well, no; there was a girl."

"Just so," assented Nessus. "It is a local by-law: and here are those who comply with it."

For now had come toward them, walking together in the dawn, a handsome boy and girl. And
the girl was incredibly beautiful, because everybody in the garden saw her with the vision of
the boy who was with her. "I am Rudolph," said this boy, "and she is Anne."

"And are you happy here?" asked Jurgen.

"Oh, yes, sir, we are tolerably happy: but Anne's father is very rich, and my mother is poor, so
that we cannot be quite happy until I have gone into foreign lands and come back with a great
many lakhs of rupees and pieces of eight."

"And what will you do with all this money, Rudolph?"

13
"My duty, sir, as I see it. But I inherit defective eyesight."

"God speed to you, Rudolph!" said Jurgen, "for many others are in your plight."

Then came to Jurgen and the Centaur another boy with the small blue-eyed person in whom
he took delight. And this fat and indolent looking boy informed them that he and the girl who
was with him were walking in the glaze of the red mustard jar, which Jurgen thought was
gibberish: and the fat boy said that he and the girl had decided never to grow any older, which
Jurgen said was excellent good sense if only they could manage it.

"Oh, I can manage that," said this fat boy, reflectively, "if only I do not find the managing of
it uncomfortable."

Jurgen for a moment regarded him, and then gravely shook hands.

"I feel for you," said Jurgen, "for I perceive that you, too, are a monstrous clever fellow: so
life will get the best of you."

"But is not cleverness the main thing, sir?"

"Time will show you, my lad," says Jurgen, a little sorrowfully.

"And God speed to you, for many others are in your plight."

And a host of boys and girls did Jurgen see in the garden. And all the faces that Jurgen saw
were young and glad and very lovely and quite heart-breakingly confident, as young persons
beyond numbering came toward Jurgen and passed him there, in the first glow of dawn: so
they all went exulting in the glory of their youth, and foreknowing life to be a puny antagonist
from whom one might take very easily anything which one desired. And all passed in couples
—"as though they came from the Ark," said Jurgen. But the Centaur said they followed a
precedent which was far older than the Ark.

"For in this garden," said the Centaur, "each man that ever lived has sojourned for a little
while, with no company save his illusions. I must tell you again that in this garden are
encountered none but imaginary creatures. And stalwart persons take their hour of recreation
here, and go hence unaccompanied, to become aldermen and respected merchants and
bishops, and to be admired as captains upon prancing horses, or even as kings upon tall
thrones; each in his station thinking not at all of the garden ever any more. But now and then
come timid persons, Jurgen, who fear to leave this garden without an escort: so these must
need go hence with one or another imaginary creature, to guide them about alleys and by-
paths, because imaginary creatures find little nourishment in the public highways, and shun
them. Thus must these timid persons skulk about obscurely with their diffident and skittish
guides, and they do not ever venture willingly into the thronged places where men get horses
and build thrones."

"And what becomes of these timid persons, Centaur?"

"Why, sometimes they spoil paper, Jurgen, and sometimes they spoil human lives."

"Then are these accursed persons," Jurgen considered.

14
"You should know best," replied the Centaur.

"Oh, very probably," said Jurgen. "Meanwhile here is one who walks alone in this garden, and
I wonder to see the local by-laws thus violated."

Now Nessus looked at Jurgen for a while without speaking: and in the eyes of the Centaur
was so much of comprehension and compassion that it troubled Jurgen. For somehow it made
Jurgen fidget and consider this an unpleasantly personal way of looking at anybody.

"Yes, certainly," said the Centaur, "this woman walks alone. But there is no help for her
loneliness, since the lad who loved this woman is dead."

"Nessus, I am willing to be reasonably sorry about it. Still, is there any need of pulling quite
such a portentously long face? After all, a great many other persons have died, off and on: and
for anything I can say to the contrary, this particular young fellow may have been no especial
loss to anybody."

Again the Centaur said, "You should know best."

4.

The Dorothy Who Did Not Understand

For now had come to Jurgen and the Centaur a gold-haired woman, clothed all in white, and
walking alone. She was tall, and lovely and tender to regard: and hers was not the red and
white comeliness of many ladies that were famed for beauty, but rather it had the even glow
of ivory. Her nose was large and high in the bridge, her flexible mouth was not of the
smallest: and yet whatever other persons might have said, to Jurgen this woman's countenance
was in all things perfect. Perhaps this was because he never saw her as she was. For certainly
the color of her eyes stayed a matter never revealed to him: gray, blue or green, there was no
saying: they varied as does the sea; but always these eyes were lovely and friendly and
perturbing.

Jurgen remembered that: for Jurgen saw this was Count Emmerick's second sister, Dorothy la
Désirée, whom Jurgen very long ago (a many years before he met Dame Lisa and set up in
business as a pawnbroker) had hymned in innumerable verses as Heart's Desire.

"And this is the only woman whom I ever loved," Jurgen remembered, upon a sudden. For
people cannot always be thinking of these matters.

So he saluted her, with such deference as is due to a countess from a tradesman, and yet with
unforgotten tremors waking in his staid body. But the strangest was yet to be seen, for he
noted now that this was not a handsome woman in middle life but a young girl.

"I do not understand," he said, aloud: "for you are Dorothy. And yet it seems to me that you
are not the Countess Dorothy who is Heitman Michael's wife."

15
And the girl tossed her fair head, with that careless lovely gesture which the Countess had
forgotten. "Heitman Michael is well enough, for a nobleman, and my brother is at me day and
night to marry the man: and certainly Heitman Michael's wife will go in satin and diamonds at
half the courts of Christendom, with many lackeys to attend her. But I am not to be thus
purchased."

"So you told a boy that I remember, very long ago. Yet you married Heitman Michael, for all
that, and in the teeth of a number of other fine declarations."

"Oh, no, not I," said this Dorothy, wondering. "I never married anybody. And Heitman
Michael has never married anybody, either, old as he is. For he is twenty-eight, and looks
every day of it! But who are you, friend, that have such curious notions about me?"

"That question I will answer, just as though it were put reasonably.

For surely you perceive I am Jurgen."

"I never knew but one Jurgen. And he is a young man, barely come of age—" Then as she
paused in speech, whatever was the matter upon which this girl now meditated, her cheeks
were tenderly colored by the thought of it, and in her knowledge of this thing her eyes took
infinite joy.

And Jurgen understood. He had come back somehow to the Dorothy whom he had loved: but
departed, and past overtaking by the fleet hoofs of centaurs, was the boy who had once loved
this Dorothy, and who had rhymed of her as his Heart's Desire: and in the garden there was of
this boy no trace. Instead, the girl was talking to a staid and paunchy pawnbroker, of forty-
and-something.

So Jurgen shrugged, and looked toward the Centaur: but Nessus had discreetly wandered
away from them, in search of four-leafed clovers. Now the east had grown brighter, and its
crimson began to be colored with gold.

"Yes, I have heard of this other Jurgen," says the pawnbroker. "Oh,
Madame Dorothy, but it was he that loved you!"

"No more than I loved him. Through a whole summer have I loved
Jurgen."

And the knowledge that this girl spoke a wondrous truth was now to Jurgen a joy that was
keen as pain. And he stood motionless for a while, scowling and biting his lips.

"I wonder how long the poor devil loved you! He also loved for a whole summer, it may be.
And yet again, it may be that he loved you all his life. For twenty years and for more than
twenty years I have debated the matter: and I am as well informed as when I started."

"But, friend, you talk in riddles."

"Is not that customary when age talks with youth? For I am an old fellow, in my forties: and
you, as I know now, are near eighteen,—or rather, four months short of being eighteen, for it
is August. Nay, more, it is the August of a year I had not looked ever to see again; and again

16
Dom Manuel reigns over us, that man of iron whom I saw die so horribly. All this seems very
improbable."

Then Jurgen meditated for a while. He shrugged.

"Well, and what could anybody expect me to do about it? Somehow it has befallen that I, who
am but the shadow of what I was, now walk among shadows, and we converse with the thin
intonations of dead persons. For, Madame Dorothy, you who are not yet eighteen, in this same
garden there was once a boy who loved a girl, with such love as it puzzles me to think of now.
I believe that she loved him. Yes, certainly it is a cordial to the tired and battered heart which
nowadays pumps blood for me, to think that for a little while, for a whole summer, these two
were as brave and comely and clean a pair of sweethearts as the world has known."

Thus Jurgen spoke. But his thought was that this was a girl whose equal for loveliness and
delight was not to be found between two oceans. Long and long ago that doubtfulness of
himself which was closer to him than his skin had fretted Jurgen into believing the Dorothy he
had loved was but a piece of his imaginings. But certainly this girl was real. And sweet she
was, and innocent she was, and light of heart and feet, beyond the reach of any man's
inventiveness. No, Jurgen had not invented her; and it strangely contented him to know as
much.

"Tell me your story, sir," says she, "for I love all romances."

"Ah, my dear child, but I cannot tell you very well of just what happened. As I look back,
there is a blinding glory of green woods and lawns and moonlit nights and dance music and
unreasonable laughter. I remember her hair and eyes, and the curving and the feel of her red
mouth, and once when I was bolder than ordinary—But that is hardly worth raking up at this
late day. Well, I see these things in memory as plainly as I now seem to see your face: but I
can recollect hardly anything she said. Perhaps, now I think of it, she was not very intelligent,
and said nothing worth remembering. But the boy loved her, and was happy, because her lips
and heart were his, and he, as the saying is, had plucked a diamond from the world's ring.
True, she was a count's daughter and the sister of a count: but in those days the boy quite
firmly intended to become a duke or an emperor or something of that sort, so the transient
discrepancy did not worry them."

"I know. Why, Jurgen is going to be a duke, too," says she, very proudly, "though he did
think, a great while ago, before he knew me, of being a cardinal, on account of the robes. But
cardinals are not allowed to marry, you see—And I am forgetting your story, too! What
happened then?"

"They parted in September—with what vows it hardly matters now—and the boy went into
Gâtinais, to win his spurs under the old Vidame de Soyecourt. And presently—oh, a good
while before Christmas!—came the news that Dorothy la Désirée had married rich Heitman
Michael."

"But that is what I am called! And as you know, there is a Heitman Michael who is always
plaguing me. Is that not strange! for you tell me all this happened a great while ago."

"Indeed, the story is very old, and old it was when Methuselah was teething. There is no older
and more common story anywhere. As the sequel, it would be heroic to tell you this boy's life

17
was ruined. But I do not think it was. Instead, he had learned all of a sudden that which at
twenty-one is heady knowledge. That was the hour which taught him sorrow and rage, and
sneering, too, for a redemption. Oh, it was armor that hour brought him, and a humor to use it,
because no woman now could hurt him very seriously. No, never any more!"

"Ah, the poor boy!" she said, divinely tender, and smiling as a goddess smiles, not quite in
mirth.

"Well, women, as he knew by experience now, were the pleasantest of playfellows. So he

began to play. Rampaging through the world he went in the pride of his youth and in the
armor of his hurt. And songs he made for the pleasure of kings, and sword-play he made for
the pleasure of men, and a whispering he made for the pleasure of women, in places where
renown was, and where he trod boldly, giving pleasure to everybody, in those fine days. But
the whispering, and all that followed the whispering, was his best game, and the game he
played for the longest while, with many brightly colored playmates who took the game more
seriously than he did. And their faith in the game's importance, and in him and his high-
sounding nonsense, he very often found amusing: and in their other chattels too he took his
natural pleasure. Then, when he had played sufficiently, he held a consultation with divers
waning appetites; and he married the handsome daughter of an estimable pawnbroker in a fair
line of business. And he lived with his wife very much as two people customarily live
together. So, all in all, I would not say his life was ruined."

"Why, then, it was," said Dorothy. She stirred uneasily, with an impatient sigh; and you saw
that she was vaguely puzzled. "Oh, but somehow I think you are a very horrible old man: and
you seem doubly horrible in that glittering queer garment you are wearing."

"No woman ever praised a woman's handiwork, and each of you is particularly severe upon
her own. But you are interrupting the saga."

"I do not see"—and those large bright eyes of which the color was so indeterminable and so
dear to Jurgen, seemed even larger now—"but I do not see how there could well be any
more."

"Still, human hearts survive the benediction of the priest, as you may perceive any day. This
man, at least, inherited his father-in-law's business, and found it, quite as he had anticipated,
the fittest of vocations for a cashiered poet. And so, I suppose, he was content. Ah, yes; but
after a while Heitman Michael returned from foreign parts, along with his lackeys, and plate,
and chest upon chest of merchandise, and his fine horses, and his wife. And he who had been
her lover could see her now, after so many years, whenever he liked. She was a handsome
stranger. That was all. She was rather stupid. She was nothing remarkable, one way or
another. This respectable pawnbroker saw that quite plainly: day by day he writhed under the
knowledge. Because, as I must tell you, he could not retain composure in her presence, even
now. No, he was never able to do that."

The girl somewhat condensed her brows over this information. "You mean that he still loved
her. Why, but of course!"

"My child," says Jurgen, now with a reproving forefinger, "you are an incurable romanticist.
The man disliked her and despised her. At any event, he assured himself that he did. Well,
even so, this handsome stupid stranger held his eyes, and muddled his thoughts, and put errors

18
into his accounts: and when he touched her hand he did not sleep that night as he was used to
sleep. Thus he saw her, day after day. And they whispered that this handsome and stupid
stranger had a liking for young men who aided her artfully to deceive her husband: but she
never showed any such favor to the respectable pawnbroker. For youth had gone out of him,
and it seemed that nothing in particular happened. Well, that was his saga. About her I do not
know. And I shall never know! But certainly she got the name of deceiving Heitman Michael
with two young men, or with five young men it might be, but never with a respectable
pawnbroker."

"I think that is an exceedingly cynical and stupid story," observed the girl. "And so I shall be
off to look for Jurgen. For he makes love very amusingly," says Dorothy, with the sweetest,
loveliest meditative smile that ever was lost to heaven.

And a madness came upon Jurgen, there in the garden between dawn and sunrise, and a
disbelief in such injustice as now seemed incredible.

"No, Heart's Desire," he cried, "I will not let you go. For you are dear and pure and faithful,
and all my evil dream, wherein you were a wanton and be-fooled me, was not true. Surely,
mine was a dream that can never be true so long as there is any justice upon earth. Why, there
is no imaginable God who would permit a boy to be robbed of that which in my evil dream
was taken from me!"

"And still I cannot understand your talking, about this dream of yours—!"

"Why, it seemed to me I had lost the most of myself; and there was left only a brain which
played with ideas, and a body that went delicately down pleasant ways. And I could not
believe as my fellows believed, nor could I love them, nor could I detect anything in aught
they said or did save their exceeding folly: for I had lost their cordial common faith in the
importance of what use they made of half-hours and months and years; and because a jill-flirt
had opened my eyes so that they saw too much, I had lost faith in the importance of my own
actions, too. There was a little time of which the passing might be made endurable; beyond
gaped unpredictable darkness: and that was all there was of certainty anywhere. Now tell me,
Heart's Desire, but was not that a foolish dream? For these things never happened. Why, it
would not be fair if these things ever happened!"

And the girl's eyes were wide and puzzled and a little frightened. "I do not understand what
you are saying: and there is that about you which troubles me unspeakably. For you call me
by the name which none but Jurgen used, and it seems to me that you are Jurgen; and yet you
are not Jurgen."

"But I am truly Jurgen. And look you, I have done what never any man has done before! For I
have won back to that first love whom every man must lose, no matter whom he marries. I
have come back again, passing very swiftly over the grave of a dream and through the malice
of time, to my Heart's Desire! And how strange it seems that I did not know this thing was
inevitable!"

"Still, friend, I do not understand you."

"Why, but I yawned and fretted in preparation for some great and beautiful adventure which
was to befall me by and by, and dazedly I toiled forward. Whereas behind me all the while

19
was the garden between dawn and sunrise, and therein you awaited me! Now assuredly, the
life of every man is a quaintly builded tale, in which the right and proper ending comes first.
Thereafter time runs forward, not as schoolmen fable in a straight line, but in a vast closed
curve, returning to the place of its starting. And it is by a dim foreknowledge of this, by some
faint prescience of justice and reparation being given them by and by, that men have heart to
live. For I know now that I have always known this thing. What else was living good for
unless it brought me back to you?"

But the girl shook her small glittering head, very sadly. "I do not understand you, and I fear
you. For you talk foolishness and in your face I see the face of Jurgen as one might see the
face of a dead man drowned in muddy water."

"Yet am I truly Jurgen, and, as it seems to me, for the first time since we were parted. For I
am strong and admirable—even I, who sneered and played so long, because I thought myself
a thing of no worth at all. That which has been since you and I were young together is as a
mist that passes: and I am strong and admirable, and all my being is one vast hunger for you,
my dearest, and I will not let you go, for you, and you alone, are my Heart's Desire."

Now the girl was looking at him very steadily, with a small puzzled frown, and with her vivid
young soft lips a little parted. And all her tender loveliness was glorified by the light of a sky
that had turned to dusty palpitating gold.

"Ah, but you say that you are strong and admirable: and I can only marvel at such talking. For
I see that which all men see."

And then Dorothy showed him the little mirror which was attached to the long chain of
turquoise matrix about her neck: and Jurgen studied the frightened foolish aged face that he
found in the mirror.

Thus drearily did sanity return to Jurgen: and his flare of passion died, and the fever and
storm and the impetuous whirl of things was ended, and the man was very weary. And in the
silence he heard the piping cry of a bird that seemed to seek for what it could not find.

"Well, I am answered," said the pawnbroker: "and yet I know that this is not the final answer.
Dearer than any hope of heaven was that moment when awed surmises first awoke as to the
new strange loveliness which I had seen in the face of Dorothy. It was then I noted the new
faint flush suffusing her face from chin to brow so often as my eyes encountered and found
new lights in the shining eyes which were no longer entirely frank in meeting mine. Well, let
that be, for I do not love Heitman Michael's wife.

"It is a grief to remember how we followed love, and found his service lovely. It is bitter to
recall the sweetness of those vows which proclaimed her mine eternally,—vows that were
broken in their making by prolonged and unforgotten kisses. We used to laugh at Heitman
Michael then; we used to laugh at everything. Thus for a while, for a whole summer, we were
as brave and comely and clean a pair of sweethearts as the world has known. But let that be,
for I do not love Heitman Michael's wife.

"Our love was fair but short-lived. There is none that may revive him since the small feet of
Dorothy trod out this small love's life. Yet when this life of ours too is over—this
parsimonious life which can allow us no more love for anybody,—must we not win back,

20
somehow, to that faith we vowed against eternity? and be content again, in some fair-colored
realm? Assuredly I think this thing will happen. Well, but let that be, for I do not love
Heitman Michael's wife."

"Why, this is excellent hearing," observed Dorothy, "because I see that you are converting
your sorrow into the raw stuff of verses. So I shall be off to look for Jurgen, since he makes
love quite otherwise and far more amusingly."

And again, whatever was the matter upon which this girl now meditated, her cheeks were
tenderly colored by the thought of it, and in her knowledge of this thing her eyes took infinite
joy.

Thus it was for a moment only: for she left Jurgen now, with the friendliest light waving of
her hand; and so passed from him, not thinking of this old fellow any longer, as he could see,
even in the instant she turned from him. And she went toward the dawn, in search of that
young Jurgen whom she, who was perfect in all things, had loved, though only for a little
while, not undeservedly.

5.

Requirements of Bread and Butter

"Nessus," says Jurgen, "and am I so changed? For that Dorothy whom I loved in youth did not
know me."

"Good and evil keep very exact accounts," replied the Centaur, "and the face of every man is
their ledger. Meanwhile the sun rises, it is already another workday: and when the shadows of
those two who come to take possession fall full upon the garden, I warn you, there will be
astounding changes brought about by the requirements of bread and butter. You have not time
to revive old memories by chatting with the others to whom you babbled aforetime in this
garden."

"Ah, Centaur, in the garden between dawn and sunrise there was never any other save
Dorothy la Désirée."

The Centaur shrugged. "It may be you forget; it is certain that you underestimate the local
population. Some of the transient visitors you have seen, and in addition hereabouts dwell the
year round all manner of imaginary creatures. The fairies live just southward, and the gnomes
too. To your right is the realm of the Valkyries: the Amazons and the Cynocephali are their
allies: all three of these nations are continually at loggerheads with their neighbors, the Baba-
Yagas, whom Morfei cooks for, and whose monarch is Oh, a person very dangerous to name.
Northward dwell the Lepracauns and the Men of Hunger, whose king is Clobhair. My people,
who are ruled by Chiron, live even further to the north. The Sphinx pastures on yonder
mountain; and now the Chimæra is old and generally derided, they say that Cerberus visits the
Sphinx at twilight, although I was never the person to disseminate scandal—"

"Centaur," said Jurgen, "and what is Dorothy doing here?"

21
"Why, all the women that any man has ever loved live here," replied the Centaur, "for very
obvious reasons."

"That is a hard saying, friend."

Nessus tapped with his forefinger upon the back of Jurgen's hand. "Worm's-meat! this is the
destined food, do what you will, of small white worms. This by and by will be a struggling
pale corruption, like seething milk. That too is a hard saying, Jurgen. But it is a true saying."

"And was that Dorothy whom I loved in youth an imaginary creature?"

"My poor Jurgen, you who were once a poet! she was your masterpiece. For there was only a
shallow, stupid and airy, high-nosed and light-haired miss, with no remarkable good looks,—
and consider what your ingenuity made from such poor material! You should be proud of
yourself."

"No, Centaur, I cannot very well be proud of my folly: yet I do not regret it. I have been
befooled by a bright shadow of my own raising, you tell me, and I concede it to be probable.
No less, I served a lovely shadow; and my heart will keep the memory of that loveliness until
life ends, in a world where other men follow pantingly after shadows which are not even
pretty."

"There is something in that, Jurgen: there is also something in an old tale we used to tell in
Thessaly, about a fox and certain grapes."

"Well, but look you, Nessus, there is an emperor that reigns now in Constantinople and
occasionally does business with me. Yes, and I could tell you tales of by what shifts he came
to the throne—"

"Men's hands are by ordinary soiled in climbing," quoth the Centaur.

"And 'Jurgen,' this emperor says to me, not many months ago, as he sat in his palace, crowned
and dreary and trying to cheat me out of my fair profit on some emeralds,—'Jurgen, I cannot
sleep of nights, because of that fool Alexius, who comes into my room with staring eyes and
the bowstring still about his neck. And my Varangians must be in league with that silly ghost,
because I constantly order them to keep Alexius out of my bedchamber, and they do not obey
me, Jurgen. To be King of the East is not to the purpose, Jurgen, when one must submit to
such vexations.' Yes, it was Cæsar Pharamond himself said this to me: and I deduce the
shadow of a crown has led him into an ugly pickle, for all that he is the mightiest monarch in
the world. And I would not change with Cæsar Pharamond, not I who am a respectable
pawnbroker, with my home in fee and my bit of tilled land. Well, this is a queer world, to be
sure: and this garden is visited by no stranger things than pop into a man's mind sometimes,
without his knowing how."

"Ah, but you must understand that the garden is speedily to be remodeled. Yonder you may
observe the two whose requirements are to rid the place of all fantastic unremunerative
notions; and who will develop the natural resources of this garden according to generally
approved methods."

22
And from afar Jurgen could see two figures coming out of the east, so tall that their heads rose
above the encircling hills and glistened in the rays of a sun which was not yet visible. One
was a white pasty-looking giant, with a crusty expression: he walked with the aid of a cane.
The other was of a pale yellow color: his face was oily, and he rode on a vast cow that was
called Ædhumla.

"Make way there, brother, with your staff of life," says the yellow giant, "for there is much to
do hereabouts."

"Ay, brother, this place must be altered a deal before it meets with our requirements," the
other grumbled. "May I be toasted if I know where to begin!"

Then as the giants turned dull and harsh faces toward the garden, the sun came above the
circle of blue hills, so that the mingled shadows of these two giants fell across the garden. For
an instant Jurgen saw the place oppressed by that attenuated mile-long shadow, as in heraldry
you may see a black bar painted sheer across some brightly emblazoned shield. Then the
radiancy of everything twitched and vanished, as a bubble bursts.

And Jurgen was standing in the midst of a field, very neatly plowed, but with nothing as yet
growing in it. And the Centaur was with him still, it seemed, for there were the creature's
hoofs, but all the gold had been washed or rubbed away from them in traveling with Jurgen.

"See, Nessus!" Jurgen cried, "the garden is made desolate. Oh,

Nessus, was it fair that so much loveliness should be thus wasted!"

"Nay," said the Centaur, "nay!" Long and wailingly he whinneyed,

"Nay!"

And when Jurgen raised his eyes he saw that his companion was not a centaur, but only a
strayed riding-horse.

"Were you the animal, then," says Jurgen, "and was it a quite ordinary animal, that conveyed
me to the garden between dawn and sunrise?" And Jurgen laughed disconsolately. "At all
events, you have clothed me in a curious fine shirt. And, now I look, your bridle is marked
with a coronet. So I will return you to the castle at Bellegarde, and it may be that Heitman
Michael will reward me."

Then Jurgen mounted this horse and rode away from the plowed field wherein nothing grew
as yet. As they left the furrows they came to a signboard with writing on it, in a peculiar red
and yellow lettering.

Jurgen paused to decipher this.

"Read me!" was written on the signboard: "read me, and judge if you understand! So you
stopped in your journey because I called, scenting something unusual, something droll. Thus,
although I am nothing, and even less, there is no one that sees me but lingers here. Stranger, I
am a law of the universe. Stranger, render the law what is due the law!"

23
Jurgen felt cheated. "A very foolish signboard, indeed! for how can it be 'a law of the
universe', when there is no meaning to it!" says Jurgen. "Why, for any law to be meaningless
would not be fair."

6.

Showing that Sereda Is Feminine

Then, having snapped his fingers at that foolish signboard, Jurgen would have turned easterly,
toward Bellegarde: but his horse resisted. The pawnbroker decided to accept this as an omen.

"Forward, then!" he said, "in the name of Koshchei." And thereafter

Jurgen permitted the horse to choose its own way.

Thus Jurgen came through a forest, wherein he saw many things not salutary to notice, to a
great stone house like a prison, and he sought shelter there. But he could find nobody about
the place, until he came to a large hall, newly swept. This was a depressing apartment, in its
chill neat emptiness, for it was unfurnished save for a bare deal table, upon which lay a
yardstick and a pair of scales. Above this table hung a wicker cage, containing a blue bird,
and another wicker cage containing three white pigeons. And in this hall a woman, no longer
young, dressed all in blue, and wearing a white towel by way of head-dress was assorting
curiously colored cloths.

She had very bright eyes, with wrinkled lids; and now as she looked up at Jurgen her shrunk
jaws quivered.

"Ah," says she, "I have a visitor. Good day to you, in your glittering shirt. It is a garment I
seem to recognize."

"Good day, grandmother! I am looking for my wife, whom I suspect to have been carried off
by a devil, poor fellow! Now, having lost my way, I have come to pass the night under your
roof."

"Very good: but few come seeking Mother Sereda of their own accord."

Then Jurgen knew with whom he talked: and inwardly he was perturbed, for all the Léshy are
unreliable in their dealings.

So when he spoke it was very civilly. "And what do you do here, grandmother?"

"I bleach. In time I shall bleach that garment you are wearing. For I take the color out of all
things. Thus you see these stuffs here, as they are now. Clotho spun the glowing threads, and
Lachesis wove them, as you observe, in curious patterns, very marvelous to see: but when I
am done with these stuffs there will be no more color or beauty or strangeness anywhere
apparent than in so many dishclouts."

24
"Now I perceive," says Jurgen, "that your power and dominion is more great than any other
power which is in the world."

He made a song of this, in praise of the Léshy and their Days, but more especially in praise of
the might of Mother Sereda and of the ruins that have fallen on Wednesday. To Chetverg and
Utornik and Subbota he gave their due. Pyatinka and Nedelka also did Jurgen commend for
such demolishments as have enregistered their names in the calendar of saints, no less. Ah,
but there was none like Mother Sereda: hers was the centre of that power which is the Léshy's.
The others did but nibble at temporal things, like furtive mice: she devastated, like a
sandstorm, so that there were many dustheaps where Mother Sereda had passed, but nothing
else.

And so on, and so on. The song was no masterpiece, and would not be bettered by repetition.
But it was all untrammeled eulogy, and the old woman beat time to it with her lean hands: and
her shrunk jaws quivered, and she nodded her white-wrapped head this way and that way,
with a rolling motion, and on her thin lips was a very proud and foolish smile.

"That is a good song," says she; "oh, yes, an excellent song! But you report nothing of my
sister Pandelis who controls the day of the Moon."

"Monday!" says Jurgen: "yes, I neglected Monday, perhaps because she is the oldest of you,
but in part because of the exigencies of my rhyme scheme. We must let Pandelis go
unhymned. How can I remember everything when I consider the might of Sereda?"

"Why, but," says Mother Sereda, "Pandelis may not like it, and she may take holiday from her
washing some day to have a word with you. However, I repeat, that is an excellent song. And
in return for your praise of me, I will tell you that, if your wife has been carried off by a devil,
your affair is one which Koshchei alone can remedy. Assuredly, I think it is to him you must
go for justice."

"But how may I come to him, grandmother?"

"Oh, as to that, it does not matter at all which road you follow. All highways, as the saying is,
lead roundabout to Koshchei. The one thing needful is not to stand still. This much I will tell
you also for your song's sake, because that was an excellent song, and nobody ever made a
song in praise of me before to-day."

Now Jurgen wondered to see what a simple old creature was this Mother Sereda, who sat
before him shaking and grinning and frail as a dead leaf, with her head wrapped in a common
kitchen-towel, and whose power was so enormous.

"To think of it," Jurgen reflected, "that the world I inhabit is ordered by beings who are not
one-tenth so clever as I am! I have often suspected as much, and it is decidedly unfair. Now
let me see if I cannot make something out of being such a monstrous clever fellow."

Jurgen said aloud: "I do not wonder that no practising poet ever presumed to make a song of
you. You are too majestical. You frighten these rhymesters, who feel themselves to be
unworthy of so great a theme. So it remained for you to be appreciated by a pawnbroker, since
it is we who handle and observe the treasures of this world after you have handled them."

25
"Do you think so?" says she, more pleased than ever. "Now, may be that was the way of it.
But I wonder that you who are so fine a poet should ever have become a pawnbroker."

"Well, and indeed, Mother Sereda, your wonder seems to me another wonder: for I can think
of no profession better suited to a retired poet. Why, there is the variety of company! for high
and low and even the genteel are pressed sometimes for money: then the plowman slouches
into my shop, and the duke sends for me privately. So the people I know, and the bits of their
lives I pop into, give me a deal to romance about."

"Ah, yes, indeed," says Mother Sereda, wisely, "that well may be the case. But I do not hold
with romance, myself."

"Moreover, sitting in my shop, I wait there quiet-like while tribute comes to me from the ends
of earth: everything which men and women have valued anywhere comes sooner or later to
me: and jewels and fine knickknacks that were the pride of queens they bring me, and
wedding rings, and the baby's cradle with his little tooth marks on the rim of it, and silver
coffin-handles, or it may be an old frying-pan, they bring me, but all comes to Jurgen. So that
just to sit there in my dark shop quiet-like, and wonder about the history of my belongings
and how they were made mine, is poetry, and is the deep and high and ancient thinking of a
god who is dozing among what time has left of a dead world, if you understand me, Mother
Sereda."

"I understand: oho, I understand that which pertains to gods, for a sufficient reason."

"And then another thing, you do not need any turn for business: people are glad to get
whatever you choose to offer, for they would not come otherwise. So you get the shining and
rough-edged coins that you can feel the proud king's head on, with his laurel-wreath like
millet seed under your fingers; and you get the flat and greenish coins that are smeared with
the titles and the chins and hooked noses of emperors whom nobody remembers or cares
about any longer: all just by waiting there quiet-like, and making a favor of it to let customers
give you their belongings for a third of what they are worth. And that is easy labor, even for a
poet."

"I understand: I understand all labor."

"And people treat you a deal more civilly than any real need is, because they are ashamed of
trafficking with you at all: I dispute if a poet could get such civility shown him in any other
profession. And finally, there is the long idleness between business interviews, with nothing
to do save sit there quiet-like and think about the queerness of things in general: and that is
always rare employment for a poet, even without the tatters of so many lives and homes
heaped up about him like spillikins. So that I would say in all, Mother Sereda, there is
certainly no profession better suited to an old poet than the profession of pawnbroking."

"Certainly, there may be something in what you tell me," observes Mother Sereda. "I know
what the Little Gods are, and I know what work is, but I do not think about these other
matters, nor about anything else. I bleach."

"Ah, and a great deal more I could be saying, too, godmother, but for the fear of wearying
you. Nor would I have run on at all about my private affairs were it not that we two are so
close related. And kith makes kind, as people say."

26
"But how can you and I be kin?"

"Why, heyday, and was I not born upon a Wednesday? That makes you my godmother, does
it not?"

"I do not know, dearie, I am sure. Nobody ever cared to claim kin with Mother Sereda before
this," says she, pathetically.

"There can be no doubt, though, on the point, no possible doubt. Sabellius states it plainly.
Artemidorus Minor, I grant you, holds the question debatable, but his reasons for doing so are
tolerably notorious. Besides, what does all his flimsy sophistry avail against Nicanor's fine
chapter on this very subject? Crushing, I consider it. His logic is final and irrefutable. What
can anyone say against Sævius Nicanor?—ah, what indeed?" demanded Jurgen.

And he wondered if there might not have been perchance some such persons somewhere, after
all. Their names, in any event, sounded very plausible to Jurgen.

"Ah, dearie, I was never one for learning. It may be as you say."

"You say 'it may be', godmother. That embarrasses me, rather, because I was about to ask for
my christening gift, which in the press of other matters you overlooked some forty years back.
You will readily conceive that your negligence, however unintentional, might possibly give
rise to unkindly criticism: and so I felt I ought to mention it, in common fairness to you."

"As for that, dearie, ask what you will within the limits of my power. For mine are all the
sapphires and turquoises and whatever else in this dusty world is blue; and mine likewise are
all the Wednesdays that have ever been or ever will be: and any one of these will I freely give
you in return for your fine speeches and your tender heart."

"Ah, but, godmother, would it be quite just for you to accord me so much more than is
granted to other persons?"

"Why, no: but what have I to do with justice? I bleach. Come now, then, do you make a
choice! for I can assure you that my sapphires are of the first water, and that many of my
oncoming Wednesdays will be well worth seeing."

"No, godmother, I never greatly cared for jewelry: and the future is but dressing and
undressing, and shaving, and eating, and computing percentage, and so on; the future does not
interest me now. So I shall modestly content myself with a second-hand Wednesday, with one
that you have used and have no further need of: and it will be a Wednesday in the August of
such and such a year."

Mother Sereda agreed to this. "But there are certain rules to be observed," says she, "for one
must have system."

As she spoke, she undid the towel about her head, and she took a blue comb from her white
hair: and she showed Jurgen what was engraved on the comb. It frightened Jurgen, a little: but
he nodded assent.

27
"First, though," says Mother Sereda, "here is the blue bird. Would you not rather have that,
dearie, than your Wednesday? Most people would."

"Ah, but, godmother," he replied, "I am Jurgen. No, it is not the blue bird I desire."

So Mother Sereda took from the wall the wicker cage containing the three white pigeons: and
going before him, with small hunched shoulders, and shuffling her feet along the flagstones,
she led the way into a courtyard, where, sure enough, they found a tethered he-goat. Of a dark
blue color this beast was, and his eyes were wiser than the eyes of a beast.

Then Jurgen set about that which Mother Sereda said was necessary.

7.

Of Compromises on a Wednesday

So it was that, riding upon a horse whose bridle was marked with a coronet, the pawnbroker
returned to a place, and to a moment, which he remembered. It was rather queer to be a fine
young fellow again, and to foresee all that was to happen for the next twenty years.

As it chanced, the first person he encountered was his mother Azra, whom Coth had loved
very greatly but not long. And Jurgen talked with Azra of what clothes he would be likely to
need in Gâtinais, and of how often he would write to her. She disparaged the new shirt he was
wearing, as was to be expected, since Azra had always preferred to select her son's clothing
rather than trust to Jurgen's taste. His new horse she admitted to be a handsome animal; and
only hoped he had not stolen it from anybody who would get him into trouble. For Azra, it
must be recorded, had never any confidence in her son; and was the only woman, Jurgen felt,
who really understood him.

And now as his beautiful young mother impartially petted and snapped at him, poor Jurgen
thought of that very real dissension and severance which in the oncoming years was to arise
between them; and of how she would die without his knowing of her death for two whole
months; and of how his life thereafter would be changed, somehow, and the world would
become an unstable place in which you could no longer put cordial faith. And he foreknew all
the remorse he was to shrug away, after the squandering of so much pride and love. But these
things were not yet: and besides, these things were inevitable.

"And yet that these things should be inevitable is decidedly not fair," said Jurgen.

So it was with all the persons he encountered. The people whom he loved when at his best as
a fine young fellow were so very soon, and through petty causes, to become nothing to him,
and he himself was to be converted into a commonplace tradesman. And living seemed to
Jurgen a wasteful and inequitable process.

Then Jurgen left the home of his youth, and rode toward Bellegarde, and tethered his horse
upon the heath, and went into the castle. Thus Jurgen came to Dorothy. She was lovely and
dear, and yet, by some odd turn, not quite so lovely and dear as the Dorothy he had seen in the

28
garden between dawn and sunrise. And Dorothy, like everybody else, praised Jurgen's
wonderful new shirt.

"It is designed for such festivals," said Jurgen, modestly—"a little notion of my own. A bit
extreme, some persons might consider it, but there is no pleasing everybody. And I like a
trifle of color."

For there was a masque that night at the castle of Bellegarde: and wildly droll and sad it was
to Jurgen to remember what was to befall so many of the participants.

Jurgen had not forgotten this Wednesday, this ancient Wednesday upon which Messire de
Montors had brought the Confraternity of St. Médard from Brunbelois, to enact a masque of
The Birth of Hercules, as the vagabonds were now doing, to hilarious applause. Jurgen
remembered it was the day before Bellegarde discovered that Count Emmerick's guest, the
Vicomte de Puysange, was in reality the notorious outlaw, Perion de la Forêt. Well, yonder
the yet undetected impostor was talking very earnestly with Dame Melicent: and Jurgen knew
all that was in store for this pair of lovers.

Meanwhile, as Jurgen reflected, the real Vicomte de Puysange was at this moment lying in a
delirium, yonder at Benoit's: to-morrow the true Vicomte would be recognized, and within the
year the Vicomte would have married Félise de Soyecourt, and later Jurgen would meet her,
in the orchard; and Jurgen knew what was to happen then also.

And Messire de Montors was watching Dame Melicent, sidewise, while he joked with little
Ettarre, who was this night permitted to stay up later than usual, in honor of the masque: and
Jurgen knew that this young bishop was to become Pope of Rome, no less; and that the child
he joked with was to become the woman for possession of whom Guiron des Rocques and the
surly-looking small boy yonder, Maugis d'Aigremont, would contend with each other until the
country hereabouts had been devastated, and the castle wherein Jurgen now was had been
besieged, and this part of it burned. And wildly droll and sad it was to Jurgen thus to
remember all that was going to happen to these persons, and to all the other persons who were
frolicking in the shadow of their doom and laughing at this trivial masque.

For here—with so much of ruin and failure impending, and with sorrow prepared so soon to
smite a many of these revellers in ways foreknown to Jurgen; and with death resistlessly
approaching so soon to make an end of almost all this company in some unlovely fashion that
Jurgen foreknew exactly,—here laughter seemed unreasonable and ghastly. Why, but Reinault
yonder, who laughed so loud, with his cropped head flung back: would Reinault be laughing
in quite this manner if he knew the round strong throat he thus exposed was going to be cut
like the throat of a calf, while three Burgundians held him? Jurgen knew this thing was to
befall Reinault Vinsauf before October was out. So he looked at Reinault's throat, and
shudderingly drew in his breath between set teeth.

"And he is worth a score of me, this boy!" thought Jurgen: "and it is I who am going to live to
be an old fellow, with my bit of land in fee, years after dirt clogs those bright generous eyes,
and years after this fine big-hearted boy is wasted! And I shall forget all about him, too.
Marion l'Edol, that very pretty girl behind him, is to become a blotched and toothless haunter
of alleys, a leering plucker at men's sleeves! And blue-eyed Colin here, with his baby mouth,
is to be hanged for that matter of coin-clipping—let me recall, now,—yes, within six years of
to-night! Well, but in a way, these people are blessed in lacking foresight. For they laugh, and

29
I cannot laugh, and to me their laughter is more terrible than weeping. Yes, they may be very
wise in not glooming over what is inevitable; and certainly I cannot go so far as to say they
are wrong: but still, at the same time—! And assuredly, living seems to me in everything a
wasteful and inequitable process."

Thus Jurgen, while the others passed a very pleasant evening.

And presently, when the masque was over, Dorothy and Jurgen went out upon the terrace, to
the east of Bellegarde, and so came to an unforgotten world of moonlight. They sat upon a
bench of carved stone near the balustrade which overlooked the highway: and the boy and the
girl gazed wistfully beyond the highway, over luminous valleys and tree-tops. Just so they had
sat there, as Jurgen perfectly remembered, when Mother Sereda first used this Wednesday.

"My Heart's Desire," says Jurgen, "I am sad to-night. For I am thinking of what life will do to
us, and what offal the years will make of you and me."

"My own sweetheart," says she, "and do we not know very well what is to happen?" And
Dorothy began to talk of all the splendid things that Jurgen was to do, and of the happy life
which was to be theirs together.

"It is horrible," he said: "for we are more fine than we shall ever be hereafter. We have a
splendor for which the world has no employment. It will be wasted. And such wastage is not
fair."

"But presently you will be so and so," says she: and fondly predicts all manner of noble
exploits which, as Jurgen remembered, had once seemed very plausible to him also. Now he
had clearer knowledge as to the capacities of the boy of whom he had thought so well.

"No, Heart's Desire: no, I shall be quite otherwise."

"—and to think how proud I shall be of you! 'But then I always knew it', I shall tell
everybody, very condescendingly—"

"No, Heart's Desire: for you will not think of me at all."

"Ah, sweetheart! and can you really believe that I shall ever care a snap of my fingers for
anybody but you?"

Then Jurgen laughed a little; for Heitman Michael came now across the lonely terrace, in
search of Madame Dorothy: and Jurgen foreknew this was the man to whom within two
months of this evening Dorothy was to give her love and all the beauty that was hers, and with
whom she was to share the ruinous years which lay ahead.

But the girl did not know this, and Dorothy gave a little shrugging gesture. "I have promised
to dance with him, and so I must. But the old fellow is a great plague."

For Heitman Michael was nearing thirty, and this to Dorothy and
Jurgen was an age that bordered upon senility.

30
"Now, by heaven," said Jurgen, "wherever Heitman Michael does his next dancing it will not
be hereabouts."

Jurgen had decided what he must do.

And then Heitman Michael saluted them civilly. "But I fear I must rob you of this fair lady,
Master Jurgen," says he.

Jurgen remembered that the man had said precisely this a score of years ago; and that Jurgen
had mumbled polite regrets, and had stood aside while Heitman Michael bore off Dorothy to
dance with him. And this dance had been the beginning of intimacy between Heitman
Michael and Dorothy.

"Heitman," says Jurgen, "the bereavement which you threaten is very happily spared me,
since, as it happens, the next dance is to be mine."

"We can but leave it to the lady," says Heitman Michael, laughing.

"Not I," says Jurgen. "For I know too well what would come of that.
I intend to leave my destiny to no one."

"Your conduct, Master Jurgen, is somewhat strange," observed Heitman

Michael.

"Ah, but I will show you a thing yet stranger. For, look you, there seem to be three of us here
on this terrace. Yet I can assure you there are four."

"Read me the riddle, my boy, and have done."

"The fourth of us, Heitman, is a goddess that wears a speckled garment and has black wings.
She can boast of no temples, and no priests cry to her anywhere, because she is the only deity
whom no prayers can move or any sacrifices placate. I allude, sir, to the eldest daughter of
Nox and Erebus."

"You speak of death, I take it."

"Your apprehension, Heitman, is nimble. Even so, it is not quick enough, I fear, to forerun the
whims of goddesses. Indeed, what person could have foreseen that this implacable lady would
have taken such a strong fancy for your company."

"Ah, my young bantam," replies Heitman Michael, "it is quite true that she and I are
acquainted. I may even boast of having despatched one or two stout warriors to serve her
underground. Now, as I divine your meaning, you plan that I should decrease her obligation
by sending her a whippersnapper."

"My notion, Heitman, is that since this dark goddess is about to leave us, she should not, in
common gallantry, be permitted to go hence unaccompanied. I propose, therefore, that we
forthwith decide who is to be her escort."

31
Now Heitman Michael had drawn his sword. "You are insane. But you extend an invitation
which I have never yet refused."

"Heitman," cries Jurgen, in honest gratitude and admiration, "I bear you no ill-will. But it is
highly necessary you die to-night, in order that my soul may not perish too many years before
my body."

With that he too whipped out his sword.

So they fought. Now Jurgen was a very acceptable swordsman, but from the start he found in
Heitman Michael his master. Jurgen had never reckoned upon that, and he considered it
annoying. If Heitman Michael perforated Jurgen the future would be altered, certainly, but not
quite as Jurgen had decided it ought to be remodeled. So this unlooked-for complication
seemed preposterous, and Jurgen began to be irritated by the suspicion that he was getting
himself killed for nothing at all.

Meanwhile his unruffled tall antagonist seemed but to play with Jurgen, so that Jurgen was
steadily forced back toward the balustrade. And presently Jurgen's sword was twisted from his
hand, and sent flashing over the balustrade, into the public highway.

"So now, Master Jurgen," says Heitman Michael, "that is the end of your nonsense. Why, no,
there is not any occasion to posture like a statue. I do not intend to kill you. Why the devil's
name, should I? To do so would only get me an ill name with your parents: and besides it is
infinitely more pleasant to dance with this lady, just as I first intended." And he turned gaily
toward Madame Dorothy.

But Jurgen found this outcome of affairs insufferable. This man was stronger than he, this
man was of the sort that takes and uses gallantly all the world's prizes which mere poets can
but respectfully admire. All was to do again: Heitman Michael, in his own hateful phrase,
would act just as he had first intended, and Jurgen would be brushed aside by the man's brute
strength. This man would take away Dorothy, and leave the life of Jurgen to become a
business which Jurgen remembered with distaste. It was unfair.

So Jurgen snatched out his dagger, and drove it deep into the undefended back of Heitman
Michael. Three times young Jurgen stabbed and hacked the burly soldier, just underneath the
left ribs. Even in his fury Jurgen remembered to strike on the left side.

It was all very quickly done. Heitman Michael's arms jerked upward, and in the moonlight his
fingers spread and clutched. He made curious gurgling noises. Then the strength went from
his knees, so that he toppled backward. His head fell upon Jurgen's shoulder, resting there for
an instant fraternally; and as Jurgen shuddered away from the abhorred contact, the body of
Heitman Michael collapsed. Now he lay staring upward, dead at the feet of his murderer. He
was horrible looking, but he was quite dead.

"What will become of you?" Dorothy whispered, after a while. "Oh, Jurgen, it was foully
done, that which you did was infamous! What will become of you, my dear?"

"I will take my doom," says Jurgen, "and without whimpering, so that I get justice. But I shall
certainly insist upon justice." Then Jurgen raised his face to the bright heavens. "The man was
stronger than I and wanted what I wanted. So I have compromised with necessity, in the only

32
way I could make sure of getting that which was requisite to me. I cry for justice to the power
that gave him strength and gave me weakness, and gave to each of us his desires. That which I
have done, I have done. Now judge!"

Then Jurgen tugged and shoved the heavy body of Heitman Michael, until it lay well out of
sight, under the bench upon which Jurgen and Dorothy had been sitting. "Rest there, brave sir,
until they find you. Come to me now, my Heart's Desire. Good, that is excellent. Here I sit
with my true love, upon the body of my enemy. Justice is satisfied, and all is quite as it should
be. For you must understand that I have fallen heir to a fine steed, whose bridle is marked
with a coronet,—prophetically, I take it,—and upon this steed you will ride pillion with me to
Lisuarte. There we will find a priest to marry us. We will go together into Gâtinais.
Meanwhile, there is a bit of neglected business to be attended to." And he drew the girl close
to him.

For Jurgen was afraid of nothing now. And Jurgen thought:

"Oh, that I could detain the moment! that I could make some fitting verses to preserve this
moment in my own memory! Could I but get into words the odor and the thick softness of this
girl's hair as my hands, that are a-quiver in every nerve of them, caress her hair; and get into
enduring words the glitter and the cloudy shadowings of her hair in this be-drenching
moonlight! For I shall forget all this beauty, or at best I shall remember this moment very
dimly."

"You have done very wrong—" says Dorothy.

Says Jurgen, to himself: "Already the moment passes this miserably happy moment wherein
once more life shudders and stands heart-stricken at the height of bliss! it passes, and I know
even as I lift this girl's soft face to mine, and mark what faith and submissiveness and
expectancy is in her face, that whatever the future holds for us, and whatever of happiness we
two may know hereafter, we shall find no instant happier than this, which passes from us
irretrievably while I am thinking about it, poor fool, in place of rising to the issue."

"—And heaven only knows what will become of you Jurgen—"

Says Jurgen, still to himself: "Yes, something must remain to me of all this rapture, though it
be only guilt and sorrow: something I mean to wrest from this high moment which was once
wasted fruitlessly. Now I am wiser: for I know there is not any memory with less satisfaction
in it than the memory of some temptation we resisted. So I will not waste the one real passion
I have known, nor leave unfed the one desire which ever caused me for a heart-beat to forget
to think about Jurgen's welfare. And thus, whatever happens, I shall not always regret that I
did not avail myself of this girl's love before it was taken from me."

So Jurgen made such advances as seemed good to him. And he noted, with amusing memories
of how much afraid he had once been of shocking his Dorothy's notions of decorum, that she
did not repulse him very vigorously.

"Here, over a dead body! Oh, Jurgen, this is horrible! Now, Jurgen, remember that somebody
may come any minute! And I thought I could trust you! Ah, and is this all the respect you
have for me!" This much she said in duty. Meanwhile the eyes of Dorothy were dilated and
very tender.

33
"Faith, I take no chances, this second time. And so whatever happens, I shall not always regret
that which I left undone."

Now upon his lips was laughter, and his arms were about the submissive girl. And in his heart
was an unnamable depression and a loneliness, because it seemed to him that this was not the
Dorothy whom he had seen in the garden between dawn and sunrise. For in my arms now
there is just a very pretty girl who is not over-careful in her dealings with young men, thought
Jurgen, as their lips met. Well, all life is a compromise; and a pretty girl is something tangible,
at any rate. So he laughed, triumphantly, and prepared for the sequel.

But as Jurgen laughed triumphantly, with his arm beneath the head of Dorothy, and with the
tender face of Dorothy passive beneath his lips, and with unreasonable wistfulness in his
heart, the castle bell tolled midnight. What followed was curious: for as Wednesday passed,
the face of Dorothy altered, her flesh roughened under his touch, and her cheeks fell away,
and fine lines came about her eyes, and she became the Countess Dorothy whom Jurgen
remembered as Heitman Michael's wife. There was no doubt about it, in that be-drenching
moonlight: and she was leering at him, and he was touching her everywhere, this horrible
lascivious woman, who was certainly quite old enough to know better than to permit such
liberties. And her breath was sour and nauseous. Jurgen drew away from her, with a shiver of
loathing, and he closed his eyes, to shut away that sensual face.

"No," he said; "it would not be fair to what we owe to others. In fact, it would be a very
heinous sin. We should weigh such considerations occasionally, madame."

Then Jurgen left his temptress, with simple dignity. "I go to search for my dear wife, madame,
in a frame of mind which I would strongly advise you to adopt toward your husband."

And he went straightway down the terraces of Bellegarde, and turned southward to where his
horse was tethered upon Amneran Heath: and Jurgen was feeling very virtuous.

8.

Old Toys and a New Shadow

Jurgen had behaved with conspicuous nobility, Jurgen reflected: but he had committed
himself. "I go in search of my dear wife," he had stated, in the exaltation of virtuous
sentiments. And now Jurgen found himself alone in a world of moonlight just where he had
last seen his wife.

"Well, well," he said, "now that my Wednesday is done with, and I am again a reputable
pawnbroker, let us remember the advisability of sometimes doing the manly thing! It was into
this cave that Lisa went. So into this cave go I, for the second time, rather than home to my
unsympathetic relatives-in-law. Or at least, I think I am going—"

"Ay," said a squeaking voice, "this is the time. A ab hur hus!"

"High time!"

34
"Oh, more than time!"

"Look, the man in the oak!"

"Oho, the fire-drake!"

Thus many voices screeched and wailed confusedly. But Jurgen, staring about him, could see
nobody: and all the tiny voices seemed to come from far overhead, where nothing was visible
save the clouds which of a sudden were gathering; for a wind was rising, and already the
moon was overcast. Now for a while that noise high in the air became like a wrangling of
sparrows, wherein no words were distinguishable.

Then said a small shrill voice distinctly: "Note now, sweethearts, how high we pass over the
wind-vexed heath, where the gallows' burden creaks and groans swaying to and fro in the
night! Now the rain breaks loose as a hawk from the fowler, and grave Queen Holda draws
her tresses over the moon's bright shield. Now the bed is made, and the water drawn, and we
the bride's maids seek for the lass who will be bride to Sclaug."

Said another: "Oh, search for a maid with golden hair, who is perfect, tender and pure, and fit
for a king who is old as love, with no trace of love in him. Even now our grinning dusty
master wakes from sleep, and his yellow fingers shake to think of her flower-soft lips who
comes to-night to his lank embrace and warms the ribs that our eyes have seen. Who will be
bride to Sclaug?"

And a third said: "The wedding-gown we have brought with us, we that a-questing ride; and a
maid will go hence on Phorgemon in Cleopatra's shroud. Hah. Will o'the Wisp will marry the
couple—"

"No, no! let Brachyotus!"

"No, be it Kitt with the candle-stick!"

"Eman hetan, a fight, a fight!"

"Oho, Tom Tumbler, 'ware of Stadlin!"

"Hast thou the marmaritin, Tib?"

"A ab hur hus!"

"Come, Bembo, come away!"

So they all fell to screeching and whistling and wrangling high over
Jurgen's head, and Jurgen was not pleased with his surroundings.

"For these are the witches of Amneran about some deviltry or another in which I prefer to
take no part. I now regret that I flung away a cross in this neighborhood so very recently, and
trust the action was understood. If my wife had not made a point of it, and had not positively
insisted upon it, I would never have thought of doing such a thing. I intended no reflection

35
upon anybody. Even so, I consider this heath to be unwholesome. And upon the whole, I
prefer to seek whatever I may encounter in this cave."

So in went Jurgen, for the second time.

And the tale tells that all was dark there, and Jurgen could see no one. But the cave stretched
straight forward, and downward, and at the far end was a glow of light. Jurgen went on and
on, and so came to the place where he had found the Centaur. This part of the cave was now
vacant. But behind where Nessus had lain in wait for Jurgen was an opening in the cave's
wall, and through this opening streamed the light. Jurgen stooped and crawled through the
orifice.

He stood erect. He caught his breath sharply. Here at his feet was, of all things, a tomb carved
with the recumbent effigy of a woman. Now this part of the cave was lighted by lamps upon
tall iron stands, so that everything was clearly visible, even to Jurgen, whose eyesight had of
late years failed him. This was certainly a low flat tombstone such as Jurgen had seen in many
churches: but the tinted effigy thereupon was curious, somehow Jurgen looked more closely.
He touched the thing.

Then he recoiled, because there is no mistaking the feel of dead flesh. The effigy was not
colored stone: it was the body of a dead woman. More unaccountable still, it was the body of
Félise de Puysange, whom Jurgen had loved very long ago in Gâtinais, a great many years
before he set up in business as a pawnbroker.

Very strange it was to Jurgen again to see her face. He had often wondered what had become
of this large brown woman; had wondered if he were really the first man for whom she had
put a deceit upon her husband; and had wondered what sort of person Madame Félise de
Puysange had been in reality.

"Two months it was that we played at intimacy, was it not, Félise? You comprehend, my dear,
I really remember very little about you. But I recall quite clearly the door left just a-jar, and
how as I opened it gently I would see first of all the lamp upon your dressing-table, turned
down almost to extinction, and the glowing dust upon its glass shade. Is it not strange that our
exceeding wickedness should have resulted in nothing save the memory of dust upon a lamp
chimney? Yet you were very handsome, Félise. I dare say I would have liked you if I had ever
known you. But when you told me of the child you had lost, and showed me his baby picture,
I took a dislike to you. It seemed to me you were betraying that child by dealing over-
generously with me: and always between us afterward was his little ghost. Yet I did not at all
mind the deceits you put upon your husband. It is true I knew your husband rather intimately
—. Well, and they tell me the good Vicomte was vastly pleased by the son you bore him some
months after you and I had parted. So there was no great harm done, after all—"

Then Jurgen saw there was another woman's body lying like an effigy upon another low flat
tomb, and beyond that another, and then still others. And Jurgen whistled.

"What, all of them!" he said. "Am I to be confronted with every pound of tender flesh I have
embraced? Yes, here is Graine, and Rosamond, and Marcouève, and Elinor. This girl, though,
I do not remember at all. And this one is, I think, the little Jewess I purchased from Hassan
Bey in Sidon, but how can one be sure? Still, this is certainly Judith, and this is Myrina. I have
half a mind to look again for that mole, but I suppose it would be indecorous. Lord, how one's

36
women do add up! There must be several scores of them in all. It is the sort of spectacle that
turns a man to serious thinking. Well, but it is a great comfort to reflect that I dealt fairly with
every one of them. Several of them treated me most unjustly, too. But that is past and done
with: and I bear no malice toward such fickle and short-sighted creatures as could not be
contented with one lover, and he the Jurgen that was!"

Thereafter, Jurgen, standing among his dead, spread out his arms in an embracing gesture.

"Hail to you, ladies, and farewell! for you and I have done with love. Well, love is very
pleasant to observe as he advances, overthrowing all ancient memories with laughter. And yet
for each gay lover who concedes the lordship of love, and wears intrepidly love's liveries, the
end of all is death. Love's sowing is more agreeable than love's harvest: or, let us put it, he
allures us into byways leading nowhither, among blossoms which fall before the first rough
wind: so at the last, with much excitement and breath and valuable time quite wasted, we find
that the end of all is death. Then would it have been more shrewd, dear ladies, to have avoided
love? To the contrary, we were unspeakably wise to indulge the high-hearted insanity that
love induced; since love alone can lend young people rapture, however transiently, in a world
wherein the result of every human endeavor is transient, and the end of all is death."

Then Jurgen courteously bowed to his dead loves, and left them, and went forward as the cave
stretched.

But now the light was behind him, so that Jurgen's shadow, as he came to a sharp turn in the
cave, loomed suddenly upon the cave wall, confronting him. This shadow was clear-cut and
unarguable.

Jurgen regarded it intently. He turned this way, then the other; he looked behind him, raised
one hand, shook his head tentatively; then he twisted his head sideways with his chin well
lifted, and squinted so as to get a profile view of this shadow. Whatever Jurgen did the
shadow repeated, which was natural enough. The odd part was that it in nothing resembled the
shadow which ought to attend any man, and this was an uncomfortable discovery to make in
loneliness deep under ground.

"I do not exactly like this," said Jurgen. "Upon my word, I do not like this at all. It does not
seem fair. It is perfectly preposterous. Well"—and here he shrugged,—"well, and what could
anybody expect me to do about it? Ah, what indeed! So I shall treat the incident with
dignified contempt, and continue my exploration of this cave."

9.

The Orthodox Rescue of Guenevere

Now the tale tells how the cave narrowed and again turned sharply, so that Jurgen came as
through a corridor into quite another sort of underground chamber. Yet this also was a
discomfortable place.

37
Here suspended from the roof of the vault was a kettle of quivering red flames. These lighted
a very old and villainous looking man in full armor, girded with a sword, and crowned
royally: he sat erect upon a throne, motionless, with staring eyes that saw nothing. Back of
him Jurgen noted many warriors seated in rows, and all staring at Jurgen with wide-open eyes
that saw nothing. The red flaming of the kettle was reflected in all these eyes, and to observe
this was not pleasant.

Jurgen waited non-committally. Nothing happened. Then Jurgen saw that at this unengaging
monarch's feet were three chests. The lids had been ripped from two of them, and these were
filled with silver coins. Upon the middle chest, immediately before the king, sat a woman,
with her face resting against the knees of the glaring, withered, motionless, old rascal.

"And this is a young woman. Obviously! Observe the glint of that thick coil of hair! the rich
curve of the neck! Oh, clearly, a tidbit fit to fight for, against any moderate odds!"

So ran the thoughts of Jurgen. Bold as a dragon now, he stepped forward and lifted the girl's
head.

Her eyes were closed. She was, even so, the most beautiful creature
Jurgen had ever imagined.

"She does not breathe. And yet, unless memory fails me, this is certainly a living woman in
my arms. Evidently this is a sleep induced by necromancy. Well, it is not for nothing I have
read so many fairy tales. There are orthodoxies to be observed in the awakening of every
enchanted princess. And Lisa, wherever she may be, poor dear! is nowhere in this
neighborhood, because I hear nobody talking. So I may consider myself at liberty to do the
traditional thing by this princess. Indeed, it is the only fair thing for me to do, and justice
demands it."

In consequence, Jurgen kissed the girl. Her lips parted and softened, and they assumed a not
unpleasant sort of submissive ardor. Her eyes, enormous when seen thus closely, had
languorously opened, had viewed him without wonder, and then the lids had fallen, about
half-way, just as, Jurgen remembered, the eyelids of a woman ought to do when she is being
kissed properly. She clung a little, and now she shivered a little, but not with cold: Jurgen
perfectly remembered that ecstatic shudder convulsing a woman's body: everything, in fine,
was quite as it should be. So Jurgen put an end to the kiss, which, as you may surmise, was a
tolerably lengthy affair.

His heart was pounding as though determined to burst from his body, and he could feel the
blood tingling at his finger-tips. He wondered what in the world had come over him, who was
too old for such emotions.

Yet, truly, this was the loveliest girl that Jurgen had ever imagined. Fair was she to look on,
with her shining gray eyes and small smiling lips, a fairer person might no man boast of
having seen. And she regarded Jurgen graciously, with her cheeks flushed by that red
flickering overhead, and she was very lovely to observe. She was clothed in a robe of flame-
colored silk, and about her neck was a collar of red gold. When she spoke her voice was
music.

"I knew that you would come," the girl said, happily.

38
"I am very glad that I came," observed Jurgen.

"But time presses."

"Time sets an admirable example, my dear Princess—"

"Oh, messire, but do you not perceive that you have brought life into this horrible place! You
have given of this life to me, in the most direct and speedy fashion. But life is very
contagious. Already it is spreading by infection."

And Jurgen regarded the old king, as the girl indicated. The withered ruffian stayed
motionless: but from his nostrils came slow augmenting jets of vapor, as though he were
beginning to breathe in a chill place. This was odd, because the cave was not cold.

"And all the others too are snorting smoke," says Jurgen. "Upon my word I think this is a
delightful place to be leaving."

First, though, he unfastened the king's sword-belt, and girded himself therewith, sword,
dagger and all. "Now I have arms befitting my fine shirt," says Jurgen.

Then the girl showed him a sort of passage way, by which they ascended forty-nine steps
roughly hewn in stone, and so came to daylight. At the top of the stairway was an iron
trapdoor, and this door at the girl's instruction Jurgen lowered. There was no way of fastening
the door from without.

"But Thragnar is not to be stopped by bolts or padlocks," the girl said. "Instead, we must
straightway mark this door with a cross, since that is a symbol which Thragnar cannot pass."

Jurgen's hand had gone instinctively to his throat. Now he shrugged.

"My dear young lady, I no longer carry the cross. I must fight
Thragnar with other weapons."

"Two sticks will serve, laid crosswise—"

Jurgen submitted that nothing would be easier than to lift the trapdoor, and thus dislodge the
sticks. "They will tumble apart without anyone having to touch them, and then what becomes
of your crucifix?"

"Why, how quickly you think of everything!" she said, admiringly. "Here is a strip from my
sleeve, then. We will tie the twigs together."

Jurgen did this, and laid upon the trapdoor a recognizable crucifix. "Still, when anyone raises
the trapdoor whatever lies upon it will fall off. Without disparaging the potency of your
charm, I cannot but observe that in this case it is peculiarly difficult to handle. Magician or
no, I would put heartier faith in a stout padlock."

So the girl tore another strip, from the hem of her gown, and then another from her right
sleeve, and with these they fastened their cross to the surface of the trapdoor, in such a fashion
that the twigs could not be dislodged from beneath. They mounted the fine steed whose bridle

39
was marked with a coronet, the girl riding pillion, and they turned westward, since the girl
said this was best.

For, as she now told Jurgen, she was Guenevere, the daughter of Gogyrvan, King of Glathion
and the Red Islands. So Jurgen told her he was the Duke of Logreus, because he felt it was not
appropriate for a pawnbroker to be rescuing princesses: and he swore, too, that he would
restore her safely to her father, whatever Thragnar might attempt. And all the story of her
nefarious capture and imprisonment by King Thragnar did Dame Guenevere relate to Jurgen,
as they rode together through the pleasant May morning.

She considered the Troll King could not well molest them. "For now you have his charmed
sword, Caliburn, the only weapon with which Thragnar can be slain. Besides, the sign of the
cross he cannot pass. He beholds and trembles."

"My dear Princess, he has but to push up the trapdoor from beneath, and the cross, being tied
to the trapdoor, is promptly moved out of his way. Failing this expedient, he can always come
out of the cave by the other opening, through which I entered. If this Thragnar has any
intelligence at all and a reasonable amount of tenacity, he will presently be at hand."

"Even so, he can do no harm unless we accept a present from him. The difficulty is that he
will come in disguise."

"Why, then, we will accept gifts from nobody."

"There is, moreover, a sign by which you may distinguish Thragnar. For if you deny what he
says, he will promptly concede you are in the right. This was the curse put upon him by
Miramon Lluagor, for a detection and a hindrance."

"By that unhuman trait," says Jurgen, "Thragnar ought to be very easy to distinguish."

10.

Pitiful Disguises of Thragnar

Next, the tale tells that as Jurgen and the Princess were nearing Gihon, a man came riding
toward them, full armed in black, and having a red serpent with an apple in its mouth painted
upon his shield.

"Sir knight," says he, speaking hollowly from the closed helmet, "you must yield to me that
lady."

"I think," says Jurgen, civilly, "that you are mistaken."

So they fought, and presently, since Caliburn was a resistless weapon, and he who wore the
scabbard of Caliburn could not be wounded, Jurgen prevailed; and gave the strange knight so
heavy a buffet that the knight fell senseless.

40
"Do you think," says Jurgen, about to unlace his antagonist's helmet, "that this is Thragnar?"

"There is no possible way of telling," replied Dame Guenevere: "if it is the Troll King he
should have offered you gifts, and when you contradicted him he should have admitted you
were right. Instead, he proffered nothing, and to contradiction he answered nothing, so that
proves nothing."

"But silence is a proverbial form of assent. At all events, we will have a look at him."

"But that too will prove nothing, since Thragnar goes about his mischiefs so disguised by
enchantments as invariably to resemble somebody else, and not himself at all."

"Such dishonest habits introduce an element of uncertainty, I grant you," says Jurgen. "Still,
one can rarely err by keeping on the safe side. This person is, in any event, a very ill-bred
fellow, with probably immoral intentions. Yes, caution is the main thing, and in justice to
ourselves we will keep on the safe side."

So without unloosing the helmet, he struck off the strange knight's head, and left him thus.
The Princess was now mounted on the horse of their deceased assailant.

"Assuredly," says Jurgen then, "a magic sword is a fine thing, and a very necessary
equipment, too, for a knight errant of my age."

"But you talk as though you were an old man, Messire de Logreus!"

"Come now," thinks Jurgen, "this is a princess of rare discrimination. What, after all, is forty-
and-something when one is well-preserved? This uncommonly intelligent girl reminds me a
little of Marcouève, whom I loved in Artein: besides, she does not look at me as women look
at an elderly man. I like this princess, in fact, I adore this princess. I wonder now what would
she say if I told her as much?"

But Jurgen did not tempt chance that time, for just then they encountered a boy who had
frizzed hair and painted cheeks. He walked mincingly, in a curious garb of black bespangled
with gold lozenges, and he carried a gilded dung fork.

*****

Then Jurgen and the Princess came to a black and silver pavilion standing by the roadside. At
the door of the pavilion was an apple-tree in blossom: from a branch of this tree was
suspended a black hunting-horn, silver-mounted. A woman waited there alone. Before her
was a chess-board, with the ebony and silver pieces set ready for a game, and upon the table
to her left hand glittered flagons and goblets of silver. Eagerly this woman rose and came
toward the travellers.

"Oh, my dear Jurgen," says she, "but how fine you look in that new shirt you are wearing! But
there was never a man had better taste in dress, as I have always said: and it is long I have
waited for you in this pavilion, which belongs to a black gentleman who seems to be a great
friend of yours. And he went into Crim Tartary this morning, with some missionaries, by the
worst piece of luck, for I know how sorry he will be to miss you, dear. Now, but I am
forgetting that you must be very tired and thirsty, my darling, after your travels. So do you

41
and the young lady have a sip of this, and then we will be telling one another of our
adventures."

For this woman had the appearance of Jurgen's wife, Dame Lisa, and of none other.

Jurgen regarded her with two minds. "You certainly seem to be Lisa.
But it is a long while since I saw Lisa in such an amiable mood."

"You must know," says she, still smiling, "that I have learned to appreciate you since we were
separated."

"The fiend who stole you from me may possibly have brought about that wonder. None the
less, you have met me riding at adventure with a young woman. And you have assaulted
neither of us, you have not even raised your voice. No, quite decidedly, here is a miracle
beyond the power of any fiend."

"Ah, but I have been doing a great deal of thinking, Jurgen dear, as to our difficulties in the
past. And it seems to me that you were almost always in the right."

Guenevere nudged Jurgen. "Did you note that? This is certainly

Thragnar in disguise."

"I am beginning to think that at all events it is not Lisa." Then Jurgen magisterially cleared his
throat. "Lisa, if you indeed be Lisa, you must understand I am through with you. The plain
truth is that you tire me. You talk and talk: no woman breathing equals you at mere volume
and continuity of speech: but you say nothing that I have not heard seven hundred and eighty
times if not oftener."

"You are perfectly right, my dear," says Dame Lisa, piteously. "But then I never pretended to
be as clever as you."

"Spare me your beguilements, if you please. And besides, I am in love with this princess.
Now spare me your recriminations, also, for you have no real right to complain. If you had
stayed the person whom I promised the priest to love, I would have continued to think the
world of you. But you did nothing of the sort. From a cuddlesome and merry girl, who
thought whatever I did was done to perfection, you elected to develop into an uncommonly
plain and short-tempered old woman." And Jurgen paused. "Eh?" said he, "and did you not do
this?"

Dame Lisa answered sadly: "My dear, you are perfectly right, from your way of thinking.
However, I could not very well help getting older."

"But, oh, dear me!" says Jurgen, "this is astonishingly inadequate impersonation, as any
married man would see at once. Well, I made no contract to love any such plain and short-
tempered person. I repudiate the claims of any such person, as manifestly unfair. And I pledge
undying affection to this high and noble Princess Guenevere, who is the fairest lady that I
have ever seen."

"You are right," wailed Dame Lisa, "and I was entirely to blame. It was because I loved you,
and wanted you to get on in the world and be a credit to my father's line of business, that I

42
nagged you so. But you will never understand the feelings of a wife, nor will you understand
that even now I desire your happiness above all else. Here is our wedding-ring, then, Jurgen. I
give you back your freedom. And I pray that this princess may make you very happy, my
dear. For surely you deserve a princess if ever any man did."

Jurgen shook his head. "It is astounding that a demon so much talked about should be so poor
an impersonator. It raises the staggering supposition that the majority of married women must
go to Heaven. As for your ring, I am not accepting gifts this morning, from anyone. But you
understand, I trust, that I am hopelessly enamored of the Princess on account of her beauty."

"Oh, and I cannot blame you, my dear. She is the loveliest person I have ever seen."

"Hah, Thragnar!" says Jurgen, "I have you now. A woman might, just possibly, have granted
her own homeliness: but no woman that ever breathed would have conceded the Princess had
a ray of good looks."

So with Caliburn he smote, and struck off the head of this thing which foolishly pretended to
be Dame Lisa.

"Well done! oh, bravely done!" cried Guenevere. "Now the enchantment is dissolved, and
Thragnar is slain by my clever champion."

"I could wish there were some surer sign of that," said Jurgen. "I would have preferred that
the pavilion and the decapitated Troll King had vanished with a peal of thunder and an
earthquake and such other phenomena as are customary. Instead, nothing is changed except
that the woman who was talking to me a moment since now lies at my feet in a very untidy
condition. You conceive, madame, I used to tease her about that twisted little-finger, in the
days before we began to squabble: and it annoys me that Thragnar should not have omitted
even Lisa's crooked little-finger on her left hand. Yes, such painstaking carefulness worries
me. For you conceive also, madame, it would be more or less awkward if I had made an error,
and if the appearance were in reality what it seemed to be, because I was pretty trying
sometimes. At all events, I have done that which seemed equitable, and I have found no
comfort in the doing of it, and I do not like this place."

11.

Appearance of the Duke of Logreus

So Jurgen brushed from the table the chessmen that were set there in readiness for a game,
and he emptied the silver flagons upon the ground. His reasons for not meddling with the horn
he explained to the Princess: she shivered, and said that, such being the case, he was certainly
very sensible. Then they mounted, and departed from the black and silver pavilion. They
came thus without further adventure to Gogyrvan Gawr's city of Cameliard.

Now there was shouting and the bells all rang when the people knew their Princess was
returned to them: the houses were hung with painted cloths and banners, and trumpets
sounded, as Guenevere and Jurgen came to the King in his Hall of Judgment. And this

43
Gogyrvan, that was King of Glathion and Lord of Enisgarth and Camwy and Sargyll, came
down from his wide throne, and he embraced first Guenevere, then Jurgen.

"And demand of me what you will, Duke of Logreus," said Gogyrvan, when he had heard the
champion's name, "and it is yours for the asking. For you have restored to me the best loved
daughter that ever was the pride of a high king."

"Sir," replied Jurgen, reasonably, "a service rendered so gladly should be its own reward. So I
am asking that you do in turn restore to me the Princess Guenevere, in honorable marriage, do
you understand, because I am a poor lorn widower, I am tolerably certain, but I am quite
certain I love your daughter with my whole heart."

Thus Jurgen, whose periods were confused by emotion.

"I do not see what the condition of your heart has to do with any such unreasonable request.
And you have no good sense to be asking this thing of me when here are the servants of
Arthur, that is now King of the Britons, come to ask for my daughter as his wife. That you are
Duke of Logreus you tell me, and I concede a duke is all very well: but I expect you in return
to concede a king takes precedence, with any man whose daughter is marriageable. But to-
morrow or the next day it may be, you and I will talk over your reward more privately.
Meanwhile it is very queer and very frightened you are looking, to be the champion who
conquered Thragnar."

For Jurgen was staring at the great mirror behind the King's throne. In this mirror Jurgen saw
the back of Gogyrvan's crowned head, and beyond this, Jurgen saw a queer and frightened
looking young fellow, with sleek black hair, and an impudent nose, and wide-open bright
brown eyes which were staring hard at Jurgen: and the lad's very red and very heavy lips were
parted, so that you saw what fine strong teeth he had: and he wore a glittering shirt with
curious figures on it

"I was thinking," says Jurgen, and he saw the lad in the mirror was speaking too, "I was
thinking that is a remarkable mirror you have there."

"It is like any other mirror," replies the King, "in that it shows things as they are. But if you
fancy it as your reward, why, take it and welcome."

"And are you still talking of rewards!" cries Jurgen. "Why, if that mirror shows things as they
are, I have come out of my borrowed Wednesday still twenty-one. Oh, but it was the clever
fellow I was, to flatter Mother Sereda so cunningly, and to fool her into such generosity! And
I wonder that you who are only a king, with bleared eyes under your crown, and with a
drooping belly under all your royal robes, should be talking of rewarding a fine young fellow
of twenty-one, for there is nothing you have which I need be wanting now."

"Then you will not be plaguing me any more with your nonsense about my daughter: and that
is excellent news."

"But I have no requirement to be asking your good graces now," said Jurgen, "nor the good
will of any man alive that has a handsome daughter or a handsome wife. For now I have the
aid of a lad that was very recently made Duke of Logreus: and with his countenance I can

44
look out for myself, and I can get justice done me everywhere, in all the bedchambers of the
world."

And Jurgen snapped his fingers, and was about to turn away from the
King. There was much sunlight in the hall, so that Jurgen in this
half-turn confronted his shadow as it lay plain upon the flagstones.
And Jurgen looked at it very intently.

"Of course," said Jurgen presently, "I only meant in a manner of speaking, sir: and was
paraphrasing the splendid if hackneyed passage from Sornatius, with which you are doubtless
familiar, in which he goes on to say, so much more beautifully than I could possibly express
without quoting him word for word, that all this was spoken jestingly, and without the least
intention of offending anybody, oh, anybody whatever, I can assure you, sir."

"Very well," said Gogyrvan Gawr: and he smiled, for no reason that was apparent to Jurgen,
who was still watching his shadow sidewise. "To-morrow, I repeat, I must talk with you more
privately. To-day I am giving a banquet such as was never known in these parts, because my
daughter is restored to me, and because my daughter is going to be queen over all the
Britons."

So said Gogyrvan, that was King of Glathion and Lord of Enisgarth and Camwy and Sargyll:
and this was done. And everywhere at the banquet Jurgen heard talk of this King Arthur who
was to marry Dame Guenevere, and of the prophecy which Merlin Ambrosius had made as to
the young monarch. For Merlin had predicted:

"He shall afford succor, and shall tread upon the necks of his enemies: the isles of the ocean
shall be subdued by him, and he shall possess the forests of Gaul: the house of Romulus shall
fear his rage, and his acts shall be food for the narrators."

"Why, then," says Jurgen, to himself, "this monarch reminds me in all things of David of
Israel, who was so splendid and famous, and so greedy, in the ancient ages. For to these
forests and islands and necks and other possessions, this Arthur Pendragon must be adding my
one ewe lamb; and I lack a Nathan to convert him to repentance. Now, but this, to be sure, is a
very unfair thing."

Then Jurgen looked again into a mirror: and presently the eyes of the lad he found therein
began to twinkle.

"Have at you, David!" said Jurgen, valorously; "since after all, I see no reason to despair."

12.

Excursus of Yolande's Undoing

Now Jurgen, self-appointed Duke of Logreus, abode at the court of King Gogyrvan. The
month of May passed quickly and pleasantly: but the monstrous shadow which followed
Jurgen did not pass. Still, no one noticed it: that was the main thing. For himself, he was not

45
afraid of shadows, and the queerness of this one was not enough to distract his thoughts from
Guenevere, nor from his love-making with Guenevere.

For these were quiet times in Glathion, now that the war with Rience of Northgalis was
satisfactorily ended: and love-making was now everywhere in vogue. By way of diversion,
gentlemen hunted and fished and rode a-hawking and amicably slashed and battered one
another in tournaments: but their really serious pursuit was lovemaking, after the manner of
chivalrous persons, who knew that the King's trumpets would presently be summoning them
into less softly furnished fields of action, from one or another of which they would return feet
foremost on a bier. So Jurgen sighed and warbled and made eyes with many excellent
fighting-men: and the Princess listened with many other ladies whose hearts were not of flint.
And Gogyrvan meditated.

Now it was the kingly custom of Gogyrvan when his dinner was spread at noontide, not to go
to meat until all such as demanded justice from him had been furnished with a champion to
redress the wrong. One day as the gaunt old King sat thus in his main hall, upon a seat of
green rushes covered with yellow satin, and with a cushion of yellow satin under his elbow,
and with his barons ranged about him according to their degrees, a damsel came with a very
heart-rending tale of the oppression that was on her.

Gogyrvan blinked at her, and nodded. "You are the handsomest woman I have seen in a long
while," says he, irrelevantly. "You are a woman I have waited for. Duke Jurgen of Logreus
will undertake this adventure."

There being no help for it, Jurgen rode off with this Dame Yolande, not very well pleased: but
as they rode he jested with her. And so, with much laughter by the way, Yolande conducted
him to the Green Castle, of which she had been dispossessed by Graemagog, a most
formidable giant.

"Now prepare to meet your death, sir knight!" cried Graemagog, laughing horribly, and
brandishing his club; "for all knights who come hither I have sworn to slay."

"Well, if truth-telling were a sin you would be a very virtuous giant," says Jurgen, and he
flourished Thragnar's sword, resistless Caliburn.

Then they fought, and Jurgen killed Graemagog. Thus was the Green Castle restored to Dame
Yolande, and the maidens who attended her aforetime were duly released from the cellarage.
They were now maidens by courtesy only, but so tender is the heart of women that they all
wept over Graemagog.

Yolande was very grateful, and proffered every manner of reward.

"But, no, I will take none of these fine jewels, nor money, nor lands either," says Jurgen. "For
Logreus, I must tell you, is a fairly well-to-do duchy, and the killing of giants is by way of
being my favorite pastime. He is well paid that is well satisfied. Yet if you must reward me
for such a little service, do you swear to do what you can to get me the love of my lady, and
that will suffice."

46
Yolande, without any particular enthusiasm, consented to attempt this: and indeed Yolande, at
Jurgen's request, made oath upon the Four Evangelists that she would do everything within
her power to aid him.

"Very well," said Jurgen, "you have sworn, and it is you whom I love."

Surprise now made her lovely. Yolande was frankly delighted at the thought of marrying the
young Duke of Logreus, and offered to send for a priest at once.

"My dear," says Jurgen, "there is no need to bother a priest about our private affairs."

She took his meaning, and sighed. "Now I regret," said she, "that I made so solemn an oath.
Your trick was unfair."

"Oh, not at all," said Jurgen: "and presently you will not regret it. For indeed the game is well
worth the candle."

"How is that shown, Messire de Logreus?"

"Why, by candle-light," says Jurgen,—"naturally."

"In that event, we will talk no further of it until this evening."

So that evening Yolande sent for him. She was, as Gogyrvan had said, a remarkably
handsome woman, sleek and sumptuous and crowned with a wealth of copper-colored hair.
To-night she was at her best in a tunic of shimmering blue, with a surcote of gold embroidery,
and with gold embroidered pendent sleeves that touched the floor. Thus she was when Jurgen
came to her.

"Now," says Yolande, frowning, "you may as well come out straightforwardly with what you
were hinting at this morning."

But first Jurgen looked about the apartment, and it was lighted by a tall gilt stand whereon
burned candles.

He counted these, and he whistled. "Seven candles! upon my word, sweetheart, you do me
great honor, for this is a veritable illumination. To think of it, now, that you should honor me,
as people do saints, with seven candles! Well, I am only mortal, but none the less I am Jurgen,
and I shall endeavor to repay this sevenfold courtesy without discount."

"Oh, Messire de Logreus," cried Dame Yolande, "but what incomprehensible nonsense you
talk! You misinterpret matters, for I can assure you I had nothing of that sort in mind.
Besides, I do not know what you are talking about."

"Indeed, I must warn you that my actions often speak more unmistakably than my words. It is
what learned persons term an idiosyncrasy."

"—And I certainly do not see how any of the saints can be concerned in this. If you had said
the Four Evangelists now—! For we were talking of the Four Evangelists, you remember, this

47
morning—Oh, but how stupid it is of you, Messire de Logreus, to stand there grinning and
looking at me in a way that makes me blush!"

"Well, that is easily remedied," said Jurgen, as he blew out the candles, "since women do not
blush in the dark."

"What do you plan, Messire de Logreus?"

"Ah, do not be alarmed!" said Jurgen. "I shall deal fairly with you."

And in fact Yolande confessed afterward that, considering everything, Messire de Logreus
was very generous. Jurgen confessed nothing: and as the room was profoundly dark nobody
else can speak with authority as to what happened there. It suffices that the Duke of Logreus
and the Lady of the Green Castle parted later on the most friendly terms.

"You have undone me, with your games and your candles and your scrupulous returning of
courtesies," said Yolande, and yawned, for she was sleepy; "but I fear that I do not hate you as
much as I ought to."

"No woman ever does," says Jurgen, "at this hour." He called for breakfast, then kissed
Yolande—for this, as Jurgen had said, was their hour of parting,—and he rode away from the
Green Castle in high spirits.

"Why, what a thing it is again to be a fine young fellow!" said Jurgen. "Well, even though her
big brown eyes protrude too much—something like a lobster's—she is a splendid woman, that
Dame Yolande: and it is a comfort to reflect I have seen justice was done her."

Then he rode back to Cameliard, singing with delight in the thought that he was riding toward
the Princess Guenevere, whom he loved with his whole heart.

13.

Philosophy of Gogyrvan Gawr

At Cameliard the young Duke of Logreus spent most of his time in the company of
Guenevere, whose father made no objection overtly. Gogyrvan had his promised talk with
Jurgen.

"I lament that Dame Yolande dealt over-thriftily with you," the King said, first of all: "for I
estimated you two would be as spark and tinder, kindling between you an amorous
conflagration to burn up all this nonsense about my daughter."

"Thrift, sir," said Jurgen, discreetly, "is a proverbial virtue, and fires may not consume true
love."

"That is the truth," Gogyrvan admitted, "whoever says it." And he sighed.

48
Then for a while he sat in nodding meditation. Tonight the old King wore a disreputably rusty
gown of black stuff, with fur about the neck and sleeves of it, and his scant white hair was
covered by a very shabby black cap. So he huddled over a small fire in a large stone fireplace
carved with shields; beside him was white wine and red, which stayed untasted while
Gogyrvan meditated upon things that fretted him.

"Now, then!" says Gogyrvan Gawr: "this marriage with the high King of the Britons must go
forward, of course. That was settled last year, when Arthur and his devil-mongers, the Lady of
the Lake and Merlin Ambrosius, were at some pains to rescue me at Carohaise. I estimate that
Arthur's ambassadors, probably the devil-mongers themselves, will come for my daughter
before June is out. Meanwhile, you two have youth and love for playthings, and it is spring."

"What is the season of the year to me," groaned Jurgen, "when I reflect that within a week or
so the lady of my heart will be borne away from me forever? How can I be happy, when all
the while I know the long years of misery and vain regret are near at hand?"

"You are saying that," observed the King, "in part because you drank too much last night, and
in part because you think it is expected of you. For in point of fact, you are as happy as
anyone is permitted to be in this world, through the simple reason that you are young. Misery,
as you employ the word, I consider to be a poetical trophe: but I can assure you that the
moment you are no longer young the years of vain regret will begin, either way."

"That is true," said Jurgen, heartily.

"How do you know? Now then, put it I were insane enough to marry my daughter to a mere
duke, you would grow damnably tired of her: I can assure you of that also, for in disposition
Guenevere is her sainted mother all over again. She is nice looking, of course, because in that
she takes after my side of the family: but, between ourselves, she is not particularly
intelligent, and she will always be making eyes at some man or another. To-day it appears to
be your turn to serve as her target, in a fine glittering shirt of which the like was never seen in
Glathion. I deplore, but even so I cannot deny, your rights as the champion who rescued her:
and I must bid you make the most of that turn."

"Meanwhile, it occurs to me, sir, that it is unusual to betroth your daughter to one man, and
permit her to go freely with another."

"If you insist upon it," said Gogyrvan Gawr, "I can of course lock up the pair of you, in
separate dungeons, until the wedding day. Meanwhile, it occurs to me you should be the last
commentator to grumble."

"Why, I tell you plainly, sir, that critical persons would say you are taking very small care of
your daughter's honor."

"To that there are several answers," replied the King. "One is that I remember my late wife as
tenderly as possible, and I reflect I have only her word for it as to Guenevere's being my
daughter. Another is that, though my daughter is a quiet and well-conducted young woman, I
never heard King Thragnar was anything of this sort."

"Oh, sir," said Jurgen, horrified, "whatever are you hinting!"

49
"All sorts of things, however, happen in caves, things which it is wiser to ignore in sunlight.
So I ignore: I ask no questions: my business is to marry my daughter acceptably, and that
only. Such discoveries as may be made by her husband afterward are his affair, not mine. This
much I might tell you, Messire de Logreus, by way of answer. But the real answer is to bid
you consider this: that a woman's honor is concerned with one thing only, and it is a thing
with which the honor of a man is not concerned at all."

"But now you talk in riddles, King, and I wonder what it is you would have me do."

Gogyrvan grinned. "Obviously, I advise you to give thanks you were born a man, because that
sturdier sex has so much less need to bother over breakage."

"What sort of breakage, sir?" says Jurgen.

Gogyrvan told him.

Duke Jurgen for the second time looked properly horrified. "Your aphorisms, King, are
abominable, and of a sort unlikely to quiet my misery. However, we were speaking of your
daughter, and it is she who must be considered rather than I."

"Now I perceive that you take my meaning perfectly. Yes, in all matters which concern my
daughter I would have you lie like a gentleman."

"Well, I am afraid, sir," said Jurgen, after a pause, "that you are a person of somewhat
degraded ideals."

"Ah, but you are young. Youth can afford ideals, being vigorous enough to stand the hard
knocks they earn their possessor. But I am an old fellow cursed with a tender heart and
tolerably keen eyes. That combination, Messire de Logreus, is one which very often forces me
to jeer out of season, simply because I know myself to be upon the verge of far more untimely
tears."

Thus Gogyrvan replied. He was silent for a while, and he contemplated the fire. Then he
waved a shriveled hand toward the window, and Gogyrvan began to speak, meditatively:

"Messire de Logreus, it is night in my city of Cameliard. And somewhere one of those roofs
harbors a girl whom we will call Lynette. She has a lover—we will say he is called Sagramor.
The names do not matter. Tonight, as I speak with you, Lynette lies motionless in the carved
wide bed that formerly was her mother's. She is thinking of Sagramor. The room is dark save
where moonlight silvers the diamond-shaped panes of ancient windows. In every corner of the
room mysterious quivering suggestions lurk."

"Ah, sire," says Jurgen, "you also are a poet!"

"Do not interrupt me, then! Lynette, I repeat, is thinking of Sagramor. Again they sit near the
lake, under an apple-tree older than Rome. The knotted branches of the tree are upraised as in
benediction: and petals—petals, fluttering, drifting, turning,—interminable white petals fall
silently in the stillness. Neither speaks: for there is no need. Silently he brushes a petal from
the blackness of her hair, and silently he kisses her. The lake is dusky and hard-seeming as
jade. Two lonely stars hang low in the green sky. It is droll that the chest of a man is hairy, oh,

50
very droll! And a bird is singing, a silvery needle of sound moves fitfully in the stillness.
Surely high Heaven is thus quietly colored and thus strangely lovely. So at least thinks little
Lynette, lying motionless like a little mouse, in the carved wide bed wherein Lynette was
born."

"A very moving touch, that," Jurgen interpolated.

"Now, there is another sort of singing: for now the pot-house closes, big shutters bang, feet
shuffle, a drunken man hiccoughs in his singing. It is a love-song he is murdering. He sheds
inexplicable tears as he lurches nearer and nearer to Lynette's window, and his heart is all
magnanimity, for Sagramor is celebrating his latest conquest. Do you not think that this or
something very like this is happening to-night in my city of Cameliard, Messire de Logreus?".

"It happens momently," said Jurgen, "everywhere. For thus is every woman for a little while,
and thus is every man for all time."

"That being a dreadful truth," continued Gogyrvan, "you may take it as one of the many
reasons why I jeer out of season in order to stave off far more untimely tears. For this thing
happens: in my city it happens, and in my castle it happens. King or no, I am powerless to
prevent its happening. So I can but shrug and hearten my old blood with a fresh bottle. No
less, I regard the young woman, who is quite possibly my daughter, with considerable
affection: and it would be salutary for you to remember that circumstance, Messire de
Logreus, if ever you are tempted to be candid."

Jurgen was horrified. "But with the Princess, sir, it is unthinkable that I should not deal
fairly."

King Gogyrvan continued to look at Jurgen. Gogyrvan Gawr said nothing, and not a muscle
of him moved.

"Although of course," said Jurgen, "I would, in simple justice to her, not ever consider
volunteering any information likely to cause pain."

"Again I perceive," said Gogyrvan, "that you understand me. Yet I did not speak of my
daughter only, but of everybody."

"How then, sir, would you have me deal with everybody?"

"Why, I can but repeat my words," says Gogyrvan, very patiently: "I would have you lie like a
gentleman. And now be off with you, for I am going to sleep. I shall not be wide awake again
until my daughter is safely married. And that is absolutely all I can do for you."

"Do you think this is reputable conduct, King?"

"Oh, no!" says Gogyrvan, surprised. "It is what we call philanthropy."

14.

51
Preliminary Tactics of Duke Jurgen

So Jurgen abode at court, and was tolerably content for a little while. He loved a princess, the
fairest and most perfect of mortal women; and loved her (a circumstance to which he
frequently recurred) as never any other man had loved in the world's history: and very shortly
he was to stand by and see her married to another. Here was a situation to delight the
chivalrous court of Glathion, for every requirement of romance was exactly fulfilled.

Now the appearance of Guenevere, whom Jurgen loved with an entire heart, was this:—She
was of middling height, with a figure not yet wholly the figure of a woman. She had fine and
very thick hair, and the color of it was the yellow of corn floss. When Guenevere undid her
hair it was a marvel to Jurgen to note how snugly this hair descended about the small head
and slender throat, and then broadened boldly and clothed her with a loose soft foam of pallid
gold. For Jurgen delighted in her hair; and with increasing intimacy, loved to draw great
strands of it back of his head, crossing them there, and pressing soft handfuls of her perfumed
hair against his cheeks as he kissed the Princess.

The head of Guenevere, be it repeated, was small: you wondered at the proud free tossing
movements of that little head which had to sustain the weight of so much hair. The face of
Guenevere was colored tenderly and softly: it made the faces of other women seem the work
of a sign-painter, just splotched in anyhow. Gray eyes had Guenevere, veiled by incredibly
long black lashes that curved incredibly. Her brows arched rather high above her eyes: that
was almost a fault. Her nose was delicate and saucy: her chin was impudence made flesh: and
her mouth was a tiny and irresistible temptation.

"And so on, and so on! But indeed there is no sense at all in describing this lovely girl as
though I were taking an inventory of my shopwindow," said Jurgen. "Analogues are all very
well, and they have the unanswerable sanction of custom: none the less, when I proclaim that
my adored mistress's hair reminds me of gold I am quite consciously lying. It looks like
yellow hair, and nothing else: nor would I willingly venture within ten feet of any woman
whose head sprouted with wires, of whatever metal. And to protest that her eyes are as gray
and fathomless as the sea is very well also, and the sort of thing which seems expected of me:
but imagine how horrific would be puddles of water slopping about in a lady's eye-sockets! If
we poets could actually behold the monsters we rhyme of, we would scream and run. Still, I
rather like this sirvente."

For he was making a sirvente in praise of Guenevere. It was the pleasant custom of
Gogyrvan's court that every gentleman must compose verses in honor of the lady of whom he
was hopelessly enamored; as well as that in these verses he should address the lady (as one
whose name was too sacred to mention) otherwise than did her sponsors. So Duke Jurgen of
Logreus duly rhapsodized of his Phyllida.

"I borrow for my dear love the appellation of that noted but by much inferior lady who was
beloved by Ariphus of Belsize," he explained. "You will remember Poliger suspects she was a
princess of the house of Scleroveus: and you of course recall Pisander's masterly summing-up
of the probabilities, in his Heraclea."

"Oh, yes," they said. And the courtiers of Gogyrvan Gawr, like Mother Sereda, were greatly
impressed by young Duke Jurgen's erudition.

52
For Jurgen was Duke of Logreus nowadays, with his glittering shirt and the coronet upon his
bridle to show for it. Awkwardly this proved to be an earl's coronet, but incongruities are not
always inexplicable.

"It was Earl Giarmuid's horse. You have doubtless heard of Giarmuid: but to ask that is
insulting."

"Oh, not at all. It is humor. We perfectly understand your humor,

Duke Jurgen."

"And a very pretty fighter I found this famous Giarmuid as I traveled westward. And since he
killed my steed in the heat of our conversation, I was compelled to take over his horse, after I
had given this poor Giarmuid proper interment. Oh, yes, a very pretty fighter, and I had heard
much talk of him in Logreus. He was Lord of Ore and Persaunt, you remember, though of
course the estate came by his mother's side."

"Oh, yes," they said. "You must not think that we of Glathion are quite shut out from the great
world. We have heard of all these affairs. And we have also heard fine things of your duchy
of Logreus, messire."

"Doubtless," said Jurgen; and turned again to his singing.

"Lo, for I pray to thee, resistless Love," he descanted, "that thou to-day make cry unto my
love, to Phyllida whom I, poor Logreus, love so tenderly, not to deny me love! Asked why,
say thou my drink and food is love, in days wherein I think and brood on love, and truly find
naught good in aught save love, since Phyllida hath taught me how to love."

Here Jurgen groaned with nicely modulated ardor; and he continued: "If she avow such
constant hate of love as would ignore my great and constant love, plead thou no more! With
listless lore of love woo Death resistlessly, resistless Love, in place of her that saith such
scorn of love as lends to Death the lure and grace I love."

Thus Jurgen sang melodiously of his Phyllida, and meant thereby (as everybody knew) the
Princess Guenevere. Since custom compelled him to deal in analogues, he dealt wholesale.
Gems and metals, the blossoms of the field and garden, fires and wounds and sunrises and
perfumes, an armory of lethal weapons, ice and a concourse of mythological deities were his
starting-point. Then the seas and heavens were dredged of phenomena to be mentioned with
disparagement, in comparison with one or another feature of Duke Jurgen's Phyllida. Zoology
and history, and generally the remembered contents of his pawnshop, were overhauled and
made to furnish targets for depreciation: whereas in dealing with the famous ladies loved by
earlier poets, Duke Jurgen was positively insulting, allowing hardly a rag of merit. Still, he
was careful to be just: and he allowed that these poor creatures might figure advantageously
enough in eyes which had never beheld his Phyllida. And to all this information the lady
whom he hymned attended willingly.

"She is a princess," reflected Jurgen. "She is quite beautiful. She is young, and whatever her
father's opinion, she is reasonably intelligent, as women go. Nobody could ask more. Why,
then, am I not out of my head about her? Already she permits a kiss or two when nobody is
around, and presently she will permit more. And she thinks I am quite the cleverest person

53
living. Come, Jurgen, man! is there no heart in this spry young body you have regained?
Come, let us have a little honest rapture and excitement over this promising situation!"

But somehow Jurgen could not manage it. He was interested in what, he knew, was going to
happen. Yes, undoubtedly he looked forward to more intimate converse with this beautiful
young princess, but it was rather as one anticipates partaking of a favorite dessert. Jurgen felt
that a liaison arranged for in this spirit was neither one thing or the other.

"If only I could feel like a cold-blooded villain, now, I would at worst be classifiable. But I
intend the girl no harm, I am honestly fond of her. I shall talk my best, broaden her ideas, and
give her, I flatter myself, considerable pleasure: vulgar prejudices apart, I shall leave her no
whit the worse. Why, the dear little thing, not for the ransom of seven emperors would I do
her any hurt! And in these matters discretion is everything, simply everything. No, quite
decidedly, I am not a cold-blooded villain; and I shall deal fairly with the Princess."

Thus Jurgen was disappointed by his own emotions, as he turned them from side to side, and
prodded them, and shifted to a fresh viewpoint, only to find it no more favorable than the one
relinquished: but he veiled the inadequacy of his emotions with very moving fervors. The tale
does not record his conversations with Guenevere: for Jurgen now discoursed plain idiocy, as
one purveys sweetmeats to a child in fond astonishment at the pet's appetite. And leisurely
Jurgen advanced: there was no hurry, with weeks wherein to accomplish everything:
meanwhile this routine work had a familiar pleasantness.

For the amateur co-ordinates matters, knowing that one thing axiomatically leads to another.
There is no harm at all in respectful allusions to a love that comprehends its hopelessness: it
was merely a fact which Jurgen mentioned, and was about to pass on; only Guenevere, in
modesty, was forced to disparage her own attractions, as an inadequate cause for so much
misery. Common courtesy demanded that Jurgen enter upon a rebuttal. To emphasize one
point in this, the orator was forced to take the hand of his audience: but strangers did that
every day, with nobody objecting; moreover, the hand was here, not so much seized as
displayed by its detainer, as evidence of what he contended. How else was he to prove the
Princess of Glathion had the loveliest hand in the world? It was not a matter he could request
Guenevere to accept on hearsay: and Jurgen wanted to deal fairly with her.

Well, but before relinquishing the loveliest hand in the world a connoisseur will naturally kiss
each fingertip: this is merely a tribute to perfection, and has no personal application. Besides,
a kiss, wherever deposited, as Jurgen pointed out, is, when you think of it, but a ceremonial,
of no intrinsic wrongfulness. The girl demurring against this apothegm—as custom again
exacted,—was, still in common fairness, convinced of her error. So now, says Jurgen
presently, you see for yourself. Is anything changed between us? Do we not sit here, just as
we were before? Why, to be sure! a kiss is now attestedly a quite innocuous performance,
with nothing very fearful about it one way or the other. It even has its pleasant side. Thus
there is no need to make a pother over kisses or over an arm about you, when it is more
comfortable sitting so: how can one reasonably deny to a sincere friend what is accorded to a
cousin or an old cloak? It would be nonsense, as Jurgen demonstrated with a very apt citation
from Napsacus.

Then, sitting so, in the heat of conversation a speaker naturally gesticulates: and a deal of his
eloquence is dependent upon his hands. When anyone is talking it is discourteous to interrupt,
whereas to lay hold of a gentleman's hand outright, as Jurgen parenthesized, is a little forward.

54
No, he really did not think it would be quite proper for Guenevere to hold his hand. Let us
preserve decorum, even in trifles.

"Ah, but you know that you are doing wrong!"

"I doing wrong! I, who am simply sitting here and talking my poor best in an effort to
entertain you! Come now, Princess, but tell me what you mean!"

"You should know very well what I mean."

"But I protest to you I have not the least notion. How can I possibly know what you mean
when you refuse to tell me what you mean?"

And since the Princess declined to put into words just what she meant, things stayed as they
were, for the while.

Thus did Jurgen co-ordinate matters, knowing that one thing axiomatically leads to another.
And in short, affairs sped very much as Jurgen had anticipated.

Now, by ordinary, Jurgen talked with Guenevere in dimly lighted places. He preferred this,
because then he was not bothered by that unaccountable shadow whose presence in sunlight
put him out. Nobody ever seemed to notice this preposterous shadow; it was patent, indeed,
that nobody could see it save Jurgen: none the less, the thing worried him. So even from the
first he remembered Guenevere as a soft voice and a delectable perfume in twilight, as a
beauty not clearly visioned.

And Gogyrvan's people worried him. The hook-nosed tall old King had been by Jurgen
dismissed from thought, as an enigma not important enough to be worth the trouble of
solving. Gogyrvan at once seemed to be schooling himself to patience under some private
annoyance and to be revolving in his mind some private jest; he was queer, and probably
abominable: but to grant the old rascal his due, he was not meddlesome.

The people about Gogyrvan, though, were perplexing. These men who considered that all you
possessed was loaned you to devote to the service of your God, your King and every woman
who crossed your path, could hardly be behaving rationally. To talk of serving God sounded
as sonorously and as inspiritingly as a drum: yes, and a drum had nothing but air in it. The
priests said so-and-so: but did anybody believe the gallant Bishop of Merion, for example,
was always to be depended upon?

"I would like the opinion of Prince Evrawc's wife as to that," said Jurgen, with a grin. For it
was well-known that all affairs between this Dame Alundyne and the Bishop were so
discreetly managed as to afford no reason for any scandal whatever.

As for serving the King, there in plain view was Gogyrvan Gawr, for anyone who so elected,
to regard and grow enthusiastic over: Gogyrvan might be shrewd enough, but to Jurgen he
suggested very little of the Lord's anointed. To the contrary, he reminded you of Jurgen's
brother-in-law, the grocer, without being graced by the tradesman's friendly interest in
customers. Gogyrvan Gawr was a person whom Jurgen simply could not imagine any
intelligent Deity selecting as steward. And finally, when it came to serving women, what sort

55
of service did women most cordially appreciate? Jurgen had his answer pat enough, but it was
an answer not suitable for utterance in a mixed company.

"No one of my honest opinions, in fact, is adapted to further my popularity in Glathion,

because I am a monstrous clever fellow who does justice to things as they are. Therefore I
must remember always, in justice to myself, that I very probably hold traffic with madmen.
Yet Rome was a fine town, and it was geese who saved it. These people may be right; and
certainly I cannot go so far as to say they are wrong: but still, at the same time—! Yes, that is
how I feel about it."

Thus did Jurgen abide at the chivalrous court of Glathion, and conform to all its customs. In
the matter of love-songs nobody protested more movingly that the lady whom he loved (quite
hopelessly, of course), embodied all divine perfections: and when it came to knightly service,
the possession of Caliburn made the despatching of thieves and giants and dragons seem
hardly sportsmanlike. Still, Jurgen fought a little, now and then, in order to conform to the
customs of Glathion: and the Duke of Logreus was widely praised as a very promising young
knight.

And all the while he fretted because he could just dimly perceive that ideal which was served
in Glathion, and the beauty of this ideal, but could not possibly believe in it. Here was, again,
a loveliness perceived in twilight, a beauty not clearly visioned.

"Yet am not I a monstrous clever fellow," he would console himself, "to take them all in so
completely? It is a joke to which, I think, I do full justice."

So Jurgen abode among these persons to whom life was a high-hearted journeying homeward.
God the Father awaited you there, ready to punish at need, but eager to forgive, after the
manner of all fathers: that one became a little soiled in traveling, and sometimes blundered
into the wrong lane, was a matter which fathers understood: meanwhile here was an ever-
present reminder of His perfection incarnated in woman, the finest and the noblest of His
creations. Thus was every woman a symbol to be honored magnanimously and reverently. So
said they all.

"Why, but to be sure!" assented Jurgen. And in support of his position he very edifyingly
quoted Ophelion, and Fabianus Papirius, and Sextius Niger to boot.

15.

Of Compromises in Glathion

The tale records that it was not a great while before, in simple justice to Guenevere, Duke
Jurgen had afforded her the advantage of frank conversation in actual privacy. For
conventions have to be regarded, of course. Thus the time of a princess is not her own, and at
any hour of day all sorts of people are apt to request an audience just when some most
improving conversation is progressing famously: but the Hall of Judgment stood vacant and
unguarded at night.

56
"But I would never consider doing such a thing," said Guenevere: "and whatever must you
think of me, to make such a proposal!"

"That too, my dearest, is a matter which I can only explain in private."

"And if I were to report your insolence to my father—"

"You would annoy him exceedingly: and from such griefs it is our duty to shield the aged."

"And besides, I am afraid."

"Oh, my dearest," says Jurgen, and his voice quavered, because his love and his sorrow
seemed very great to him: "but, oh, my dearest, can it be that you have not faith in me! For
with all my body and soul I love you, as I have loved you ever since I first raised your face
between my hands, and understood that I had never before known beauty. Indeed, I love you
as, I think, no man has ever loved any woman that lived in the long time that is gone, for my
love is worship, and no less. The touch of your hand sets me to trembling, dear; and the look
of your gray eyes makes me forget there is anything of pain or grief or evil anywhere: for you
are the loveliest thing God ever made, with joy in the new skill that had come to His fingers.
And you have not faith in me!"

Then the Princess gave a little sobbing laugh of content and repentance, and she clasped the
hand of her grief-stricken lover. "Forgive me, Jurgen, for I cannot bear to see you so
unhappy!"

"Ah, and what is my grief to you!" he asks of her, bitterly.

"Much, oh, very much, my dear!" she whispered.

So in the upshot Jurgen was never to forget that moment wherein he waited behind the door,
and through the crack between the half-open door and the door-frame saw Guenevere
approach irresolutely, a wavering white blur in the dark corridor. She came to talk with him
where they would not be bothered with interruptions: but she came delightfully perfumed, in
her night-shift, and in nothing else. Jurgen wondered at the way of these women even as his
arms went about her in the gloom. He remembered always the feel of that warm and slender
and yielding body, naked under the thin fabric of the shift, as his arms first went about her: of
all their moments together that last breathless minute before either of them had spoken stayed
in his memory as the most perfect.

And yet what followed was pleasant enough, for now it was to the wide and softly cushioned
throne of a king, no less, that Guenevere and Jurgen resorted, so as to talk where they would
not be bothered with interruptions. The throne of Gogyrvan was perfectly dark, under its
canopy, in the unlighted hall, and in the dark nobody can see what happens.

Thereafter these two contrived to talk together nightly upon the throne of Glathion: but what
remained in Jurgen's memory was that last moment behind the door, and the six tall windows
upon the east side of the hall, those windows which were of commingled blue and silver, but
were all an opulent glitter, throughout that time in the night when the moon was clear of the
tree-tops and had not yet risen high enough to be shut off by the eaves. For that was all which
Jurgen really saw in the Hall of Judgment. There would be a brief period wherein upon the

57
floor beneath each window would show a narrow quadrangle of moonlight: but the windows
were set in a wall so deep that this soon passed. On the west side were six windows also, but
about these was a porch; so no light ever came from the west.

Thus in the dark they would laugh and talk with lowered voices. Jurgen came to these
encounters well primed with wine, and in consequence, as he quite comprehended, talked like
an angel, without confining himself exclusively to celestial topics. He was often delighted by
his own brilliance, and it seemed to him a pity there was no one handy to take it down: so
much of his talking was necessarily just a little over the head of any girl, however beautiful
and adorable.

And Guenevere, he found, talked infinitely better at night. It was not altogether the wine
which made him think that, either: the girl displayed a side she veiled in the day time. A girl,
far less a princess, is not supposed to know more than agrees with a man's notion of maidenly
ignorance, she contended.

"Nobody ever told me anything about so many interesting matters. Why, I remember—" And
Guenevere narrated a quaintly pathetic little story, here irrelevant, of what had befallen her
some three or four years earlier. "My mother was living then: but she had never said a word
about such things, and frightened as I was, I did not go to her."

Jurgen asked questions.

"Why, yes. There was nothing else to do. I cannot talk freely with my maids and ladies even
now. I cannot question them, that is: of course I can listen as they talk among themselves. For
me to do more would be unbecoming in a princess. And I wonder quietly about so many
things!" She educed instances. "After that I used to notice the animals and the poultry. So I
worked out problems for myself, after a fashion. But nobody ever told me anything directly."

"Yet I dare say that Thragnar—well, the Troll King, being very wise, must have made
zoology much clearer."

"Thragnar was a skilled enchanter," says a demure voice in the dark; "and through the potency
of his abominable arts, I can remember nothing whatever about Thragnar."

Jurgen laughed, ruefully. Still, he was tolerably sure about

Thragnar now.

So they talked: and Jurgen marvelled, as millions of men had done aforetime, and have done
since, at the girl's eagerness, now that barriers were down, to discuss in considerable detail all
such matters as etiquette had previously compelled them to ignore. About her ladies in
waiting, for example, she afforded him some very curious data: and concerning men in
general she asked innumerable questions that Jurgen found delicious.

Such innocence combined—upon the whole—with a certain moral obtuseness, seemed

inconceivable. For to Jurgen it now appeared that Guenevere was behaving with not quite the
decorum which might fairly be expected of a princess. Contrition, at least, one might have
looked for, over this hole and corner business: whereas it worried him to note that Guenevere
was coming to accept affairs almost as a matter of course. Certainly she did not seem to think
at all of any wickedness anywhere: the utmost she suggested was the necessity of being very

58
careful. And while she never contradicted him in these private conversations, and submitted in
everything to his judgment, her motive now appeared to be hardly more than a wish to please
him. It was almost as though she were humoring him in his foolishness. And all this within six
weeks! reflected Jurgen: and he nibbled his finger-nails, with a mental side-glance toward the
opinions of King Gogyrvan Gawr.

But in daylight the Princess remained unchanged. In daylight Jurgen adored her, but with no
feeling of intimacy. Very rarely did occasion serve for them to be actually alone in the day
time. Once or twice, though, he kissed her in open sunlight: and then her eyes were melting
but wary, and the whole affair was rather flat. She did not repulse him: but she stayed a
princess, appreciative of her station, and seemed not at all the invisible person who talked
with him at night in the Hall of Judgment.

Presently, by common consent, they began to avoid each other by daylight. Indeed, the time
of the Princess was now pre-occupied: for now had come into Glathion a ship with saffron
colored sails, and having for its figure-head a dragon that was painted with thirty colors. Such
was the ship which brought Messire Merlin Ambrosius and Dame Anaïtis, the Lady of the
Lake, with a great retinue, to fetch young Guenevere to London, where she was to be married
to King Arthur.

First there was a week of feasting and tourneys and high mirth of every kind. Now the
trumpets blared, and upon a scaffolding that was gay with pennons and smart tapestries King
Gogyrvan sat nodding and blinking in his brightest raiment, to judge who did the best: and
into the field came joyously a press of dukes and earls and barons and many famous knights,
to contend for honor and a trumpery chaplet of pearls.

Jurgen shrugged, and honored custom. The Duke of Logreus acquitted himself with credit in
the opening tournament, unhorsing Sir Dodinas le Sauvage, Earl Roth of Meliot, Sir
Epinogris, and Sir Hector de Maris: then Earl Damas of Listenise smote like a whirlwind, and
Jurgen slid contentedly down the tail of his fine horse. His part in the tournament was ended,
and he was heartily glad of it. He preferred to contemplate rather than share in such festivities:
and he now followed his bent with a most exquisite misery, because he considered that never
had any other poet occupied a situation more picturesque.

By day he was the Duke of Logreus, which in itself was a notable advance upon
pawnbroking: after nightfall he discounted the peculiar privileges of a king. It was the
secrecy, the deluding of everybody, which he especially enjoyed: and in the thought of what a
monstrous clever fellow was Jurgen, he almost lost sight of the fact that he was miserable
over the impending marriage of the lady he loved.

Once or twice he caught the tail-end of a glance from Gogyrvan's bright old eye. Jurgen by
this time abhorred Gogyrvan, as a person of abominably unjust dealings.

"To take no better care of his own daughter," Jurgen considered, "is infamous. The man is
neglecting his duties as a father, and to do that is not fair."

16.

59
Divers Imbroglios of King Smoit

Now it befell that for three nights in succession the Princess Guenevere was unable to
converse with Jurgen in the Hall of Judgment. So upon one of these disengaged evenings
Duke Jurgen held a carouse with Aribert and Urien, two of Gogyrvan's barons, who had just
returned from Pengwaed-Gir, and had queer tales to narrate of the Trooping Fairies who
garrison that place.

All three were seasoned topers, so Jurgen went to bed prepared for anything. Later he sat up
in bed, and found it was much as he had suspected. The room was haunted, and at the foot of
his couch were two ghosts: one an impudent-looking leering phantom, in a suit of old-
fashioned armor, and the other a beautiful pale lady, in the customary flowing white draperies.

"Good-morning to you both," says Jurgen, "and sorry am I that I cannot truthfully observe I
am glad to see you. Though you are welcome enough if you can manage to haunt the room
quietly." Then, seeing that both phantoms looked puzzled, Jurgen proceeded to explain. "Last
year, when I was traveling upon business in Westphalia, it was my grief to spend a night in
the haunted castle of Neuedesberg, for I could not get any sleep at all in that place. There was
a ghost in charge who persisted in rattling very large iron chains and in groaning dismally
throughout the night. Then toward morning he took the form of a monstrous cat, and climbed
upon the foot of my bed: and there he squatted yowling until daybreak. And as I am ignorant
of German, I was not able to convey to him any idea of my disapproval of his conduct. Now I
trust that as compatriots, or as I might say with more exactness, as former compatriots, you
will appreciate that such behavior is out of all reason."

"Messire," says the male ghost, and he oozed to his full height, "you are guilty of
impertinence in harboring such a suspicion. I can only hope it proceeds from ignorance."

"For I am sure," put in the lady, "that I always disliked cats, and we never had them about the
castle."

"And you must pardon my frankness, messire," continued the male ghost, "but you cannot
have moved widely in noble company if you are indeed unable to distinguish between
members of the feline species and of the reigning family of Glathion."

"Well, I have seen dowager queens who justified some such confusion," observed Jurgen.
"Still, I entreat the forgiveness of both of you, for I had no idea that I was addressing royalty."

"I was King Smoit," explained the male phantom, "and this was my ninth wife, Queen Sylvia
Tereu."

Jurgen bowed as gracefully, he flattered himself, as was possible in his circumstances. It is

not easy to bow gracefully while sitting erect in bed.

"Often and over again have I heard of you, King Smoit," says Jurgen. "You were the
grandfather of Gogyrvan Gawr, and you murdered your ninth wife, and your eighth wife, and
your fifth wife, and your third wife too: and you went under the title of the Black King, for
you were reputed the wickedest monarch that ever reigned in Glathion and the Red Islands."

60
It seemed to Jurgen that King Smoit evinced embarrassment, but it is hard to be quite certain
when a ghost is blushing. "Perhaps I was spoken of in some such terms," says Smoit, "for the
neighbors were censorious gossips, and I was not lucky in my marriages. And I regret, I
bitterly regret, to confess that, in a moment of extreme yet not quite unprovoked excitement, I
assassinated the lady whom you now behold."

"And I am sure, through no fault of mine," says Sylvia Tereu.

"Certainly, my dear, you resisted with all your might. I only wish that you had been a larger
and a brawnier woman. But you, messire, can now perceive, I suppose, the folly of expecting
a high King of Glathion, and the queen that he took delight in, to sit upon your bed and
howl?"

So then, upon reflection, Jurgen admitted he had never had that experience; nor, he
handsomely added, could he recall any similar incident among his friends.

"The notion is certainly preposterous," went on King Smoit, and very grimly he smiled. "We
are drawn hither by quite other intentions. In fact, we wish to ask of you, as a member of the
family, your assistance in a delicate affair."

"I would be delighted," Jurgen stated, "to aid you in any possible way. But why do you call
me a member of the family?"

"Now, to deal frankly," says Smoit, with a grin, "I am not claiming any alliance with the Duke
of Logreus—"

"Sometimes," says Jurgen, "one prefers to travel incognito. As a king, you ought to
understand that."

—"My interest is rather in the grandson of Steinvor. Now you will remember your
grandmother Steinvor as, I do not doubt, a charming old lady. But I remember Steinvor, the
wife of Ludwig, as one of the loveliest girls that a king's eyes ever lighted on."

"Oh, sir," says Jurgen, horrified, "and what is this you are telling me!"

"Merely that I had always an affectionate nature," replied King Smoit, "and that I was a fine
upstanding young king in those days. And one of the results of my being these things was
your father, whom men called Coth the son of Ludwig. But I can assure you Ludwig had done
nothing to deserve it."

"Well, well!" said Jurgen: "all this is very scandalous: and very upsetting, too, it is to have a
brand-new grandfather foisted upon you at this hour of the morning. Still, it happened a great
while ago: and if Ludwig did not fret over it, I see no reason why I should do so. And besides,
King Smoit, it may be that you are not telling me the truth."

"If you doubt my confession, messire my grandson, you have only to look into the next
mirror. It is precisely on this account that we have ventured to dispel your slumbers. For to me
you bear a striking resemblance. You have the family face."

61
Now Jurgen considered the lineaments of King Smoit of Glathion. "Really," said Jurgen, "of
course it is very flattering to be told that your appearance is regal. I do not at all know what to
say in reply to the implied compliment, without seeming uncivil. I would never for a moment
question that you were much admired in your day, sir, and no doubt very justly so. None the
less—well, my nose, now, from such glimpses of it as mirrors have hitherto afforded, does not
appear to be a snub-nose."

"Ah, but appearances are proverbially deceitful," observed King

Smoit.

"And about the left hand corner," protested Queen Sylvia Tereu, "I detect a distinct
resemblance."

"Now I may seem unduly obtuse," said Jurgen, "for I am a little obtuse. It is a habit with me, a
very bad habit formed in early infancy, and I have never been able to break myself of it. And
so I have not any notion at what you two are aiming."

Replied the ghost of King Smoit: "I will explain. Just sixty-three years ago to-night I
murdered my ninth wife in circumstances of peculiar brutality, as you with rather
questionable taste have mentioned."

Then Jurgen was somewhat abashed, and felt that it did not become him, who had so recently
cut off the head of his own wife, to assume the airs of a precisian. "Of course," says Jurgen,
more broad-mindedly, "these little family differences are always apt to occur in married life."

"So be it! Though, by the so-and-sos of Ursula's eleven thousand traveling companions, there
was a time wherein I would not have brooked such criticism. Ah, well, that time is overpast,
and I am a bloodless thing that the wind sweeps at the wind's will through lands in which but
yesterday King Smoit was dreaded. So I let that which has been be."

"Well, that seems reasonable," said Jurgen, "and to be a trifle rhetorical is the privilege of
grandfathers. Therefore I entreat you, sir, to continue."

"Two years afterward I followed the Emperor Locrine in his expedition against the Suevetii,
an evil and luxurious people who worship Gozarin peculiarly, by means of little boats. I must
tell you, grandson, that was a goodly raid, conducted by a band of tidy fighters in a land of
wealth and of fine women. But alack, as the saying is, in our return from Osnach my loved
general Locrine was captured by that arch-fiend Duke Corineus of Cornwall: and I, among
many others who had followed the Emperor, paid for our merry larcenies and throat-cuttings a
very bitter price. Corineus was not at all broadminded, not what you would call a man of the
world. So it was in a noisome dungeon that I was incarcerated,—I, Smoit of Glathion, who
conquered Enisgarth and Sargyll in open battle and fearlessly married the heiress of Camwy!
But I spare you the unpleasant details. It suffices to say that I was dissatisfied with my
quarters. Yet fain to leave them as I became, there was but one way. It involved the slaying of
my gaoler, a step which was, I confess, to me distasteful. I was getting on in life, and had
grown tired of killing people. Yet, to mature deliberation, the life of a graceless varlet, void of
all gentleness and with no bowels of compassion, and deaf to suggestions of bribery, appeared
of no overwhelming importance."

62
"I can readily imagine, grandfather, that you were not deeply interested in either the nature or
the anatomy of your gaoler. So you did what was unavoidable."

"Yes, I treacherously slew him, and escaped in an impenetrable disguise to Glathion, where
not long afterward I died. My dying just then was most annoying, for I was on the point of
being married, and she was a remarkably attractive girl,—King Tyrnog's daughter, from
Craintnor way. She would have been my thirteenth wife. And not a week before the ceremony
I tripped and fell down my own castle steps, and broke my neck. It was a humiliating end for
one who had been a warrior of considerable repute. Upon my word, it made me think there
might be something, after all, in those old superstitions about thirteen being an unlucky
number. But what was I saying?—oh, yes! It is also unlucky to be careless about one's
murders. You will readily understand that for one or two such affairs I am condemned yearly
to haunt the scene of my crime on its anniversary: such an arrangement is fair enough, and I
make no complaint, though of course it does rather break into the evening. But it happened
that I treacherously slew my gaoler with a large cobble-stone on the fifteenth of June. Now
the unfortunate part, the really awkward feature, was that this was to an hour the anniversary
of the death of my ninth wife."

"And you murdering insignificant strangers on such a day!" said Queen Sylvia. "You
climbing out of jail windows figged out as a lady abbess, on an anniversary you ought to have
kept on your knees in unavailing repentance! But you were a hard man, Smoit, and it was
little loving courtesy you showed your wife at a time when she might reasonably look to be
remembered, and that is a fact."

"My dear, I admit it was heedless of me. I could not possibly say more. At any rate, grandson,
I discovered after my decease that such heedlessness entailed my haunting on every fifteenth
of June at three in the morning two separate places."

"Well, but that was justice," says Jurgen.

"It may have been justice," Smoit admitted: "but my point is that it happened to be
impossible. However, I was aided by my great-great-grandfather Penpingon Vreichvras ap
Mylwald Glasanief. He too had the family face; and in every way resembled me so closely
that he impersonated me to everyone's entire satisfaction; and with my wife's assistance re-
enacted my disastrous crime upon the scene of its occurrence, June after June."

"Indeed," said Queen Sylvia, "he handled his sword infinitely better than you, my dear. It was
a thrilling pleasure to be murdered by Penpingon Vreichvras ap Mylwald Glasanief, and I
shall always regret him."

"For you must understand, grandson, that the term of King Penpingon Vreichvras ap Mylwald
Glasanief's stay in Purgatory has now run out, and he has recently gone to Heaven. That was
pleasant for him, I dare say, so I do not complain. Still, it leaves me with no one to take my
place. Angels, as you will readily understand, are not permitted to perpetrate murders, even in
the way of kindness. It might be thought to establish a dangerous precedent."

"All this," said Jurgen, "seems regrettable, but not strikingly explicit. I have a heart and a half
to serve you, sir, with not seven-eighths of a notion as to what you want of me. Come, put a
name to it!"

63
"You have, as I have said, the family face. You are, in fact, the living counterpart of Smoit of
Glathion. So I beseech you, messire my grandson, for this one night to impersonate my ghost,
and with the assistance of Queen Sylvia Tereu to see that at three o'clock the White Turret is
haunted to everyone's satisfaction. Otherwise," said Smoit, gloomily, "the consequences will
be deplorable."

"But I have had no experience at haunting," Jurgen confessed. "It is a pursuit in which I do
not pretend to competence: and I do not even know just how one goes about it."

"That matter is simple, although mysterious preliminaries will be, of course, necessitated, in
order to convert a living person into a ghost—"

"The usual preliminaries, sir, are out of the question: and I must positively decline to be
stabbed or poisoned or anything of that kind, even to humor my grandfather."

Both Smoit and Sylvia protested that any such radical step would be superfluous, since
Jurgen's ghostship was to be transient. In fact, all Jurgen would have to do would be to drain
the embossed goblet which Sylvia Tereu held out to him, with Druidical invocations.

And for a moment Jurgen hesitated. The whole business seemed rather improbable. Still, the
ties of kin are strong, and it is not often one gets the chance to aid, however slightly, one's
long-dead grandfather: besides, the potion smelt very invitingly.

"Well," says Jurgen, "I am willing to taste any drink once." Then
Jurgen drank.

The flavor was excellent. Yet the drink seemed not to affect Jurgen, at first. Then he began to
feel a trifle light-headed. Next he looked downward, and was surprised to notice there was
nobody in his bed. Closer investigation revealed the shadowy outline of a human figure,
through which the bedclothing had collapsed. This, he decided, was all that was left of Jurgen.
And it gave him a queer sensation. Jurgen jumped like a startled horse, and so violently that
he flew out of bed, and found himself floating imponderably about the room.

Now Jurgen recognized the feeling perfectly. He had often had it in his sleep, in dreams
wherein he would bend his legs at the knees so that his feet came up behind him, and he
would pass through the air without any effort. Then it seemed ridiculously simple, and he
would wonder why he never thought of it before. And then he would reflect: "This is an
excellent way of getting around. I will come to breakfast this way in the morning, and show
Lisa how simple it is. How it will astonish her, to be sure, and how clever she will think me!"
And then Jurgen would wake up, and find that somehow he had forgotten the trick of it.

But just now this manner of locomotion was undeniably easy. So Jurgen floated around his
bed once or twice, then to the ceiling, for practice. Through inexperience, he miscalculated
the necessary force, and popped through into the room above, where he found himself
hovering immediately over the Bishop of Merion. His eminence was not alone, but as both
occupants of the apartment were asleep, Jurgen witnessed nothing unepiscopal. Now Jurgen
rejoined his grandfather, and girded on charmed Caliburn, and demanded what must next be
done.

64
"The assassination will take place in the White Turret, as usual. Queen Sylvia will instruct
you in the details. You can invent most of the affair, however, as the Lady of the Lake, who
occupies this room to-night, is very probably unacquainted with our terrible history."

Then King Smoit observed that it was high time he kept his appointment in Cornwall, and he
melted into air, with an easy confidence that bespoke long practise: and Jurgen followed
Queen Sylvia Tereu.

17.

About a Cock That Crowed Too Soon

Next the tale tells of how Jurgen and the ghost of Queen Sylvia Tereu came into the White
Turret. The Lady of the Lake was in bed: she slept unaccompanied, as Jurgen noted with
approval, for he wished to intrude upon no more tête-à-têtes. And Dame Anaïtis did not at
first awake.

Now this was a gloomy and high-paneled apartment, with exactly the traditional amount of
moonlight streaming through two windows. Any ghost, even an apprentice, could have
acquitted himself with credit in such surroundings, and Jurgen thought he did extremely well.
He was atavistically brutal, and to improvise the accompanying dialogue he did not find
difficult. So everything went smoothly, and with such spirit that Anaïtis was presently
wakened by Queen Sylvia's very moving wails for mercy, and sat erect in bed, as though a
little startled. Then the Lady of the Lake leaned back among the pillows, and witnessed the
remainder of the terrible scene with remarkable self-possession.

So it was that the tragedy swelled to its appalling climax, and subsided handsomely. With the
aid of Caliburn, Jurgen had murdered his temporary wife. He had dragged her insensate body
across the floor, by the hair of her head, and had carefully remembered first to put her comb
in his pocket, as Queen Sylvia had requested, so that it would not be lost. He had given vent
to several fiendish "Ha-ha's" and all the old high imprecations he remembered: and in short,
everything had gone splendidly when he left the White Turret with a sense of self-approval
and Queen Sylvia Tereu.

The two of them paused in the winding stairway; and in the darkness, after he had restored her
comb, the Queen was telling Jurgen how sorry she was to part with him.

"For it is back to the cold grave I must be going now, Messire Jurgen, and to the tall flames of
Purgatory: and it may be that I shall not ever see you any more."

"I shall regret the circumstance, madame," says Jurgen, "for you are the loveliest person I
have ever seen."

The Queen was pleased. "That is a delightfully boyish speech, and one can see it comes from
the heart. I only wish that I could meet with such unsophisticated persons in my present
abode. Instead, I am herded with battered sinners who have no heart, who are not frank and
outspoken about anything, and I detest their affectations."

65
"Ah, then you are not happy with your husband, Sylvia? I suspected as much."

"I see very little of Smoit. It is true he has eight other wives all resident in the same flame, and
cannot well show any partiality. Two of his Queens, though, went straight to Heaven: and his
eighth wife, Gudrun, we are compelled to fear, must have been an unrepentant sinner, for she
has never reached Purgatory. But I always distrusted Gudrun, myself: otherwise I would never
have suggested to Smoit that he have her strangled in order to make me his queen. You see, I
thought it a fine thing to be a queen, in those days, Jurgen, when I was an artless slip of a girl.
And Smoit was all honey and perfume and velvet, in those days, Jurgen, and little did I
suspect the cruel fate that was to befall me."

"Indeed, it is a sad thing, Sylvia, to be murdered by the hand which, so to speak, is sworn to
keep an eye on your welfare, and which rightfully should serve you on its knees."

"It was not that I minded. Smoit killed me in a fit of jealousy, and jealousy is in its blundering
way a compliment. No, a worse thing than that befell me, Jurgen, and embittered all my life in
the flesh." And Sylvia began to weep.

"And what was that thing, Sylvia?"

Queen Sylvia whispered the terrible truth. "My husband did not understand me."

"Now, by Heaven," says Jurgen, "when a woman tells me that, even though the woman be
dead, I know what it is she expects of me."

So Jurgen put his arm about the ghost of Queen Sylvia Tereu, and comforted her. Then,
finding her quite willing to be comforted, Jurgen sat for a while upon the dark steps, with one
arm still about Queen Sylvia. The effect of the potion had evidently worn off, because Jurgen
found himself to be composed no longer of cool imponderable vapor, but of the warmest and
hardest sort of flesh everywhere. But probably the effect of the wine which Jurgen had drunk
earlier in the evening had not worn off: for now Jurgen began to talk wildishly in the dark,
about the necessity of his, in some way, avenging the injury inflicted upon his nominal
grandfather, Ludwig, and Jurgen drew his sword, charmed Caliburn.

"For, as you perceive," said Jurgen, "I carry such weapons as are sufficient for all ordinary
encounters. And am I not to use them, to requite King Smoit for the injustice he did poor
Ludwig? Why, certainly I must. It is my duty."

"Ah, but Smoit by this is back in Purgatory," Queen Sylvia protested, "And to draw your
sword against a woman is cowardly."

"The avenging sword of Jurgen, my charming Sylvia, is the terror of envious men, but it is the
comfort of all pretty women."

"It is undoubtedly a very large sword," said she: "oh, a magnificent sword, as I can perceive
even in the dark. But Smoit, I repeat, is not here to measure weapons with you."

"Now your arguments irritate me, whereas an honest woman would see to it that all the
legacies of her dead husband were duly satisfied—"

66
"Oh, oh! and what do you mean—?"

"Well, but certainly a grandson is—at one remove, I grant you,—a sort of legacy."

"There is something in what you advance—"

"There is a great deal in what I advance, I can assure you. It is the most natural and most
penetrating kind of logic; and I wish merely to discharge a duty—"

"But you upset me, with that big sword of yours, you make me
nervous, and I cannot argue so long as you are flourishing it about.
Come now, put up your sword! Oh, what is anybody to do with you!
Here is the sheath for your sword," says she.

At this point they were interrupted.

"Duke of Logreus," says the voice of Dame Anaïtis, "do you not think it would be better to
retire, before such antics at the door of my bedroom give rise to a scandal?"

For Anaïtis had half-opened the door of her bedroom, and with a lamp in her hand, was
peering out into the narrow stairway. Jurgen was a little embarrassed, for his apparent
intimacy with a lady who had been dead for sixty-three years would be, he felt, a matter
difficult to explain. So Jurgen rose to his feet, and hastily put up the weapon he had exhibited
to Queen Sylvia, and decided to pass airily over the whole affair. And outside, a cock crowed,
for it was now dawn.

"I bid you a good morning, Dame Anaïtis," said Jurgen. "But the stairways hereabouts are
confusing, and I must have lost my way. I was going for a stroll. This is my distant relative
Queen Sylvia Tereu, who kindly offered to accompany me. We were going out to gather
mushrooms and to watch the sunrise, you conceive."

"Messire de Logreus, I think you had far better go back to bed."

"To the contrary, madame, it is my manifest duty to serve as Queen

Sylvia's escort—"

"For all that, messire, I do not see any Queen Sylvia."

Jurgen looked about him. And certainly his grandfather's ninth wife was no longer visible.
"Yes, she has vanished. But that was to be expected at cockcrow. Still, that cock crew just at
the wrong moment," said Jurgen, ruefully. "It was not fair."

And Dame Anaïtis said: "Gogyrvan's cellar is well stocked: and you sat late with Urien and
Aribert: and doubtless they also were lucky enough to discover a queen or two in Gogyrvan's
cellar. No less, I think you are still a little drunk."

"Now answer me this, Dame Anaïtis: were you not visited by two ghosts to-night?"

"Why, that is as it may be," she replied: "but the White Turret is notoriously haunted, and it is
few quiet nights I have passed there, for Gogyrvan's people were a bad lot."

67
"Upon my word," wonders Jurgen, "what manner of person is this Dame Anaïtis, who
remains unstirred by such a brutal murder as I have committed, and makes no more of ghosts
than I would of moths? I have heard she is an enchantress, I am sure she is a fine figure of a
woman: and in short, here is a matter which would repay looking into, were not young
Guenevere the mistress of my heart."

Aloud he said: "Perhaps then I am drunk, madame. None the less, I still think the cock crew
just at the wrong moment."

"Some day you must explain the meaning of that," says she. "Meanwhile I am going back to
bed, and I again advise you to do the same."

Then the door closed, the bolt fell, and Jurgen went away, still in considerable excitement.

"This Dame Anaïtis is an interesting personality," he reflected, "and it would be a pleasure,

now, to demonstrate to her my grievance against the cock, did occasion serve. Well, things
less likely than that have happened. Then, too, she came upon me when my sword was out,
and in consequence knows I wield a respectable weapon. She may feel the need of a good
swordsman some day, this handsome Lady of the Lake who has no husband. So let us
cultivate patience. Meanwhile, it appears that I am of royal blood. Well, I fancy there is
something in the scandal, for I detect in me a deal in common with this King Smoit. Twelve
wives, though! no, that is too many. I would limit no man's liaisons, but twelve wives in
lawful matrimony bespeaks an optimism unknown to me. No, I do not think I am drunk: but it
is unquestionable that I am not walking very straight. Certainly, too, we did drink a great deal.
So I had best go quietly back to bed, and say nothing more about to-night's doings."

As much he did. And this was the first time that Jurgen, who had been a pawnbroker, held any
discourse with Dame Anaïtis, whom men called the Lady of the Lake.

18.

Why Merlin Talked in Twilight

It was two days later that Jurgen was sent for by Merlin Ambrosius. The Duke of Logreus
came to the magician in twilight, for the windows of this room were covered with sheets
which shut out the full radiance of day. Everything in the room was thus visible in a diffused
and tempered light that cast no shadows. In his hand Merlin held a small mirror, about three
inches square, from which he raised his dark eyes puzzlingly.

"I have been talking to my fellow ambassador, Dame Anaïtis: and I have been wondering,
Messire de Logreus, if you have ever reared white pigeons."

Jurgen looked at the little mirror. "There was a woman of the Léshy who not long ago showed
me an employment to which one might put the blood of white pigeons. She too used such a
mirror. I saw what followed, but I must tell you candidly that I understood nothing of the ins
and outs of the affair."

68
Merlin nodded. "I suspected something of the sort. So I elected to talk with you in a room
wherein, as you perceive, there are no shadows."

"Now, upon my word," says Jurgen, "but here at last is somebody who can see my attendant!
Why is it, pray, that no one else can do so?"

"It was my own shadow which drew my notice to your follower. For I, too, have had a
shadow given me. It was the gift of my father, of whom you have probably heard."

It was Jurgen's turn to nod. Everybody knew who had begotten Merlin
Ambrosius, and sensible persons preferred not to talk of the matter.
Then Merlin went on to speak of the traffic between Merlin and
Merlin's shadow.

"Thus and thus," says Merlin, "I humor my shadow. And thus and thus my shadow serves me.
There is give-and-take, such as is requisite everywhere."

"I understand," says Jurgen: "but has no other person ever perceived this shadow of yours?"

"Once only, when for a while my shadow deserted me," Merlin replied. "It was on a Sunday
my shadow left me, so that I walked unattended in naked sunlight: for my shadow was
embracing the church-steeple, where church-goers knelt beneath him. The church-goers were
obscurely troubled without suspecting why, for they looked only at each other. The priest and
I alone saw him quite clearly,—the priest because this thing was evil, and I because this thing
was mine."

"Well, now I wonder what did the priest say to your bold shadow?"

"'But you must go away!'—and the priest spoke without any fear. Why is it they seem always
without fear, those dull and calm-eyed priests? 'Such conduct is unseemly. For this is High
God's house, and far-off peoples are admonished by its steadfast spire, pointing always
heavenward, that the place is holy,' said the priest. And my shadow answered, 'But I only
know that steeples are of phallic origin.' And my shadow wept, wept ludicrously, clinging to
the steeple where church-goers knelt beneath him."

"Now, and indeed that must have been disconcerting, Messire Merlin. Still, as you got your
shadow back again, there was no great harm done. But why is it that such attendants follow
some men while other men are permitted to live in decent solitude? It does not seem quite
fair."

"Perhaps I could explain it to you, friend, but certainly I shall not. You know too much as it
is. For you appear in that bright garment of yours to have come from a land and a time which
even I, who am a skilled magician, can only cloudily foresee, and cannot understand at all.
What puzzles me, however"—and Merlin's fore-finger shot out. "How many feet had the first
wearer of your shirt? and were you ever an old man?" says he.

"Well, four, and I was getting on," says Jurgen.

"And I did not guess! But certainly that is it,—an old poet loaned at once a young man's body
and the Centaur's shirt. Adères has loosed a new jest into the world, for her own reasons—"

69
"But you have things backwards. It was Sereda whom I cajoled so nicely."

"Names that are given by men amount to very little in a case like this. The shadow which
follows you I recognize—and revere—as the gift of Adères, a dreadful Mother of small Gods.
No doubt she has a host of other names. And you cajoled her, you consider! I would not
willingly walk in the shirt of any person who considers that. But she will enlighten you, my
friend, at her appointed time."

"Well, so that she deals justly—" Jurgen said, and shrugged.

Now Merlin put aside the mirror. "Meanwhile it was another matter entirely that Dame
Anaïtis and I discussed, and about which I wished to be speaking with you. Gogyrvan is
sending to King Arthur, along with Gogyrvan's daughter, that Round Table which Uther
Pendragon gave Gogyrvan, and a hundred knights to fill the sieges of this table. Gogyrvan,
who, with due respect, possesses a deplorable sense of humor, has numbered you among these
knights. Now it is rumored the Princess is given to conversing a great deal with you in private,
and Arthur has never approved of garrulity. So I warn you that for you to come with us to
London would not be convenient."

"I hardly think so, either," said Jurgen, with appropriate melancholy; "for me to pursue the
affair any further would only result in marring what otherwise will always be a perfect
memory of divers very pleasant conversations."

"Old poet, you are well advised," said Merlin,—"especially now that the little princess whom
we know is about to enter queenhood and become a symbol. I am sorry for her, for she will be
worshipped as a revelation of Heaven's splendor, and being flesh and blood, she will not like
it. And it is to no effect I have forewarned King Arthur, for that must happen which will
always happen so long as wisdom is impotent against human stupidity. So wisdom can but
make the best of it, and be content to face the facts of a great mystery."

Thereupon, Merlin arose, and lifted the tapestry behind him, so that
Jurgen could see what hitherto this tapestry had screened.

*****

"You have embarrassed me horribly," said Jurgen, "and I can feel that I am still blushing,
about the ankles. Well, I was wrong: so let us say no more concerning it."

"I wished to show you," Merlin returned, "that I know what I am talking about. However, my
present purpose is to put Guenevere out of your head: for in your heart I think she never was,
old poet, who go so modestly in the Centaur's shirt. Come, tell me now! and does the thought
of her approaching marriage really disturb you?"

"I am the unhappiest man that breathes," said Jurgen, with unction. "All night I lie awake in
my tumbled bed, and think of the miserable day which is past, and of what is to happen in that
equally miserable day whose dawn I watch with a sick heart. And I cry aloud, in the immortal
words of Apollonius Myronides—"

"Of whom?" says Merlin.

70
"I allude to the author of the Myrosis," Jurgen explained,—"whom so many persons rashly
identify with Apollonius Herophileius."

"Oh, yes, of course! your quotation is very apt. Why, then your condition is sad but not
incurable. For I am about to give you this token, with which, if you are bold enough, you will
do thus and thus."

"But indeed this is a somewhat strange token, and the arms and legs, and even the head, of
this little man are remarkably alike! Well, and you tell me thus and thus. But how does it
happen, Messire Merlin, that you have never used this token in the fashion you suggest to
me?"

"Because I was afraid. You forget I am only a magician, whose conjuring raises nothing more
formidable than devils. But this is a bit of the Old Magic that is no longer understood, and I
prefer not to meddle with it. You, to the contrary, are a poet, and the Old Magic was always
favorable to poets."

"Well, I will think about it," says Jurgen, "if this will really put
Dame Guenevere out of my head."

"Be assured it will do that," said Merlin. "For with reason does the Dirghâgama declare, 'The
brightness of the glowworm cannot be compared to that of a lamp.'"

"A very pleasant little work, the Dirghâgama," said Jurgen, tolerantly—"though superficial,
of course."

Then Merlin Ambrosius gave Jurgen the token, and some advice.

So that night Jurgen told Guenevere he would not go in her train to London. He told her
candidly that Merlin was suspicious of their intercourse.

"And therefore, in order to protect you and to protect your fame, my dearest dear," said
Jurgen, "it is necessary that I sacrifice myself and everything I prize in life. I shall suffer very
much: but my consolation will be that I have dealt fairly with you whom I love with an entire
heart, and shall have preserved you through my misery."

But Guenevere did not appear to notice how noble this was of Jurgen. Instead, she wept very
softly, in a heartbroken way that Jurgen found unbearable.

"For no man, whether emperor or peasant," says the Princess, "has ever been loved more
dearly or faithfully or more wholly without any reserve or forethought than you, my dearest,
have been loved by me. All that I had I have given you. All that I had you have taken,
consuming it. So now you leave me with not anything more to give you, not even any anger
or contempt, now that you turn me adrift, for there is nothing in me anywhere save love of
you, who are unworthy."

"But I die many deaths," said Jurgen, "when you speak thus to me."
And in point of fact, he did feel rather uncomfortable.

71
"I speak the truth, though. You have had all: and so you are a little weary, and perhaps a little
afraid of what may happen if you do not break off with me."

"Now you misjudge me, darling—"

"No, I do not misjudge you, Jurgen. Instead, for the first time I judge both of us. You I
forgive, because I love you, but myself I do not forgive, and I cannot ever forgive, for having
been a spendthrift fool."

And Jurgen found such talking uncomfortable and tedious and very unfair to him. "For there
is nothing I can do to help matters," says Jurgen. "Why, what could anybody possibly expect
me to do about it? And so why not be happy while we may? It is not as though we had any
time to waste."

For this was the last night but one before the day that was set for
Guenevere's departure.

19.

The Brown Man with Queer Feet

Early in the following morning Jurgen left Cameliard, traveling toward Carohaise, and went
into the Druid forest there, and followed Merlin's instructions.

"Not that I for a moment believe in such nonsense," said Jurgen: "but it will be amusing to see
what comes of this business, and it is unjust to deny even nonsense a fair trial."

So he presently observed a sun-browned brawny fellow, who sat upon the bank of a stream,
dabbling his feet in the water, and making music with a pipe constructed of seven reeds of
irregular lengths. To him Jurgen displayed, in such a manner as Merlin had prescribed, the
token which Merlin had given. The man made a peculiar sign, and rose. Jurgen saw that this
man's feet were unusual.

Jurgen bowed low, and he said, as Merlin had bidden: "Now praise be to thee, thou lord of the
two truths! I have come to thee, O most wise, that I may learn thy secret. I would know thee,
and would know the forty-two mighty ones who dwell with thee in the hall of the two truths,
and who are nourished by evil-doers, and who partake of wicked blood each day of the
reckoning before Wennofree. I would know thee for what thou art."

The brown man answered: "I am everything that was and that is to be.
Never has any mortal been able to discover what I am."

Then this brown man conducted Jurgen to an open glen, at the heart of the forest.

"Merlin dared not come himself, because," observed the brown man, "Merlin is wise. But you
are a poet. So you will presently forget that which you are about to see, or at worst you will
tell pleasant lies about it, particularly to yourself."

72
"I do not know about that," says Jurgen, "but I am willing to taste any drink once. What are
you about to show me?"

The brown man answered: "All."

So it was near evening when they came out of the glen. It was dark now, for a storm had risen.
The brown man was smiling, and Jurgen was in a flutter.

"It is not true," Jurgen protested. "What you have shown me is a pack of nonsense. It is the
degraded lunacy of a so-called Realist. It is sorcery and pure childishness and abominable
blasphemy. It is, in a word, something I do not choose to believe. You ought to be ashamed of
yourself!"

"Even so, you do believe me, Jurgen."

"I believe that you are an honest man and that I am your cousin: so there are two more lies for
you."

The brown man said, still smiling: "Yes, you are certainly a poet, you who have borrowed the
apparel of my cousin. For you come out of my glen, and from my candor, as sane as when
you entered. That is not saying much, to be sure, in praise of a poet's sanity at any time. But
Merlin would have died, and Merlin would have died without regret, if Merlin had seen what
you have seen, because Merlin receives facts reasonably."

"Facts! sanity! and reason!" Jurgen raged: "why, but what nonsense you are talking! Were
there a bit of truth in your silly puppetry this world of time and space and consciousness
would be a bubble, a bubble which contained the sun and moon and the high stars, and still
was but a bubble in fermenting swill! I must go cleanse my mind of all this foulness. You
would have me believe that men, that all men who have ever lived or shall ever live hereafter,
that even I am of no importance! Why, there would be no justice in any such arrangement, no
justice anywhere!"

"That vexed you, did it not? It vexes me at times, even me, who under Koshchei's will alone
am changeless."

"I do not know about your variability: but I stick to my opinion about your veracity," says
Jurgen, for all that he was upon the verge of hysteria. "Yes, if lies could choke people that
shaggy throat would certainly be sore."

Then the brown man stamped his foot, and the striking of his foot upon the moss made a new
noise such as Jurgen had never heard: for the noise seemed to come multitudinously from
every side, at first as though each leaf in the forest were tinily cachinnating; and then this
noise was swelled by the mirth of larger creatures, and echoes played with this noise, until
there was a reverberation everywhere like that of thunder. The earth moved under their feet
very much as a beast twitches its skin under the annoyance of flies. Another queer thing
Jurgen noticed, and it was that the trees about the glen had writhed and arched their trunks,
and so had bended, much as candles bend in very hot weather, to lay their topmost foliage at
the feet of the brown man. And the brown man's appearance was changed as he stood there,
terrible in a continuous brown glare from the low-hanging clouds, and with the forest making
obeisance, and with shivering and laughter everywhere.

73
"Make answer, you who chatter about justice! how if I slew you now," says the brown man,
—"I being what I am?"

"Slay me, then!" says Jurgen, with shut eyes, for he did not at all like the appearance of
things. "Yes, you can kill me if you choose, but it is beyond your power to make me believe
that there is no justice anywhere, and that I am unimportant. For I would have you know I am
a monstrous clever fellow. As for you, you are either a delusion or a god or a degraded
Realist. But whatever you are, you have lied to me, and I know that you have lied, and I will
not believe in the insignificance of Jurgen."

Chillingly came the whisper of the brown man: "Poor fool! O shuddering, stiff-necked fool!
and have you not just seen that which you may not ever quite forget?"

"None the less, I think there is something in me which will endure. I am fettered by
cowardice, I am enfeebled by disastrous memories; and I am maimed by old follies. Still, I
seem to detect in myself something which is permanent and rather fine. Underneath
everything, and in spite of everything, I really do seem to detect that something. What rôle
that something is to enact after the death of my body, and upon what stage, I cannot guess.
When fortune knocks I shall open the door. Meanwhile I tell you candidly, you brown man,
there is something in Jurgen far too admirable for any intelligent arbiter ever to fling into the
dustheap. I am, if nothing else, a monstrous clever fellow: and I think I shall endure,
somehow. Yes, cap in hand goes through the land, as the saying is, and I believe I can
contrive some trick to cheat oblivion when the need arises," says Jurgen, trembling, and
gulping, and with his eyes shut tight, but even so, with his mind quite made up about it. "Of
course you may be right; and certainly I cannot go so far as to say you are wrong: but still, at
the same time—"

"Now but before a fool's opinion of himself," the brown man cried, "the Gods are powerless.
Oh, yes, and envious, too!"

And when Jurgen very cautiously opened his eyes the brown man had left him physically
unharmed. But the state of Jurgen's nervous system was deplorable.

20.

Efficacy of Prayer

Jurgen went in a tremble to the Cathedral of the Sacred Thorn in Cameliard. All night Jurgen
prayed there, not in repentance, but in terror. For his dead he prayed, that they should not have
been blotted out in nothingness, for the dead among his kindred whom he had loved in
boyhood, and for these only. About the men and women whom he had known since then he
did not seem to care, or not at least so vitally. But he put up a sort of prayer for Dame Lisa
—"wherever my dear wife may be, and, O God, grant that I may come to her at last, and be
forgiven!" he wailed, and wondered if he really meant it.

He had forgotten about Guenevere. And nobody knows what were that night the thoughts of
the young Princess, nor if she offered any prayers, in the deserted Hall of Judgment.

74
In the morning a sprinkling of persons came to early mass. Jurgen attended with fervor, and
started doorward with the others. Just before him a merchant stopped to get a pebble from his
shoe, and the merchant's wife went forward to the holy-water font.

"Madame, permit me," said a handsome young esquire, and offered her holy water.

"At eleven," said the merchant's wife, in low tones. "He will be out all day."

"My dear," says her husband, as he rejoined her, "and who was the young gentleman?"

"Why, I do not know, darling. I never saw him before."

"He was certainly very civil. I wish there were more like him. And a fine looking young
fellow, too!"

"Was he? I did not notice," said the merchant's wife, indifferently.

And Jurgen saw and heard and regarded the departing trio ruefully. It seemed to him
incredible the world should be going on just as it went before he ventured into the Druid
forest.

He paused before a crucifix, and he knelt and looked up wistfully.

"If one could only know," says Jurgen, "what really happened in
Judea! How immensely would matters be simplified, if anyone but knew
the truth about You, Man upon the Cross!"

Now the Bishop of Merion passed him, coming from celebration of the early mass. "My Lord
Bishop," says Jurgen, simply, "can you tell me the truth about this Christ?"

"Why, indeed, Messire de Logreus," replied the Bishop, "one cannot but sympathize with
Pilate in thinking that the truth about Him is very hard to get at, even nowadays. Was He
Melchisedek, or Shem, or Adam? or was He verily the Logos? and in that event, what sort of
a something was the Logos? Granted He was a god, were the Arians or the Sabellians in the
right? had He existed always, co-substantial with the Father and the Holy Spirit, or was He a
creation of the Father, a kind of Israelitic Zagreus? Was He the husband of Acharamoth, that
degraded Sophia, as the Valentinians aver? or the son of Pantherus, as say the Jews? or
Kalakau, as contends Basilidês? or was it, as the Docetês taught, only a tinted cloud in the
shape of a man that went from Jordan to Golgotha? Or were the Merinthians right? These are
a few of the questions, Messire de Logreus, which naturally arise. And not all of them are to
be settled out of hand."

Thus speaking, the gallant prelate bowed, then raised three fingers in benediction, and so
quitted Jurgen, who was still kneeling before the crucifix.

"Ah, ah!" says Jurgen, to himself, "but what a variety of interesting problems are, in point of
fact, suggested by religion. And what delectable exercise would the settling of these
problems, once for all, afford the mind of a monstrous clever fellow! Come now, it might be
well for me to enter the priesthood. It may be that I have a call."

75
But people were shouting in the street. So Jurgen rose and dusted his knees. And as Jurgen
came out of the Cathedral of the Sacred Thorn the cavalcade was passing that bore away
Dame Guenevere to the arms and throne of her appointed husband. Jurgen stood upon the
Cathedral porch, his mind in part pre-occupied by theology, but still not failing to observe
how beautiful was this young princess, as she rode by on her white palfrey, green-garbed and
crowned and a-glitter with jewels. She was smiling as she passed him, bowing her small
tenderly-colored young countenance this way and that way, to the shouting people, and not
seeing Jurgen at all.

Thus she went to her bridal, that Guenevere who was the symbol of all beauty and purity to
the chivalrous people of Glathion. The mob worshipped her; and they spoke as though it were
an angel who passed.

"Our beautiful young Princess!"

"Ah, there is none like her anywhere!"

"And never a harsh word for anyone, they say—!"

"Oh, but she is the most admirable of ladies—!"

"And so brave too, that lovely smiling child who is leaving her home forever!"

"And so very, very pretty!"

"—So generous!"

"King Arthur will be hard put to it to deserve her!"

Said Jurgen: "Now it is droll that to these truths I have but to add another truth in order to
have large paving-stones flung at her! and to have myself tumultuously torn into fragments,
by those unpleasantly sweaty persons who, thank Heaven, are no longer jostling me!"

For the Cathedral porch had suddenly emptied, because as the procession passed heralds were
scattering silver among the spectators.

"Arthur will have a very lovely queen," says a soft lazy voice.

And Jurgen turned and saw that beside him was Dame Anaïtis, whom people called the Lady
of the Lake.

"Yes, he is greatly to be envied," says Jurgen, politely. "But do you not ride with them to
London?"

"Why, no," says the Lady of the Lake, "because my part in this bridal was done when I mixed
the stirrup-cup of which the Princess and young Lancelot drank this morning. He is the son of
King Ban of Benwick, that tall young fellow in blue armor. I am partial to Lancelot, for I
reared him, at the bottom of a lake that belongs to me, and I consider he does me credit. I also
believe that Madame Guenevere by this time agrees with me. And so, my part being done to
serve my creator, I am off for Cocaigne."

76
"And what is this Cocaigne?"

"It is an island wherein I rule."

"I did not know you were a queen, madame."

"Why, indeed there are a many things unknown to you, Messire de Logreus, in a world where
nobody gets any assuredness of knowledge about anything. For it is a world wherein all men
that live have but a little while to live, and none knows his fate thereafter. So that a man
possesses nothing certainly save a brief loan of his own body: and yet the body of man is
capable of much curious pleasure."

"I believe," said Jurgen, as his thoughts shuddered away from what he had seen and heard in
the Druid forest, "that you speak wisdom."

"Then in Cocaigne we are all wise: for that is our religion. But of what are you thinking, Duke
of Logreus?"

"I was thinking," says Jurgen, "that your eyes are unlike the eyes of any other woman that I
have ever seen."

Smilingly the dark woman asked him wherein they differed, and smilingly he said he did not
know. They were looking at each other warily. In each glance an experienced gamester
acknowledged a worthy opponent.

"Why, then you must come with me into Cocaigne," says Anaïtis, "and see if you cannot
discover wherein lies that difference. For it is not a matter I would care to leave unsettled."

"Well, that seems only just to you," says Jurgen. "Yes, certainly I must deal fairly with you."

Then they left the Cathedral of the Sacred Thorn, walking together. The folk who went toward
London were now well out of sight and hearing, which possibly accounts for the fact that
Jurgen was now in no wise thinking of Guenevere. So it was that Guenevere rode out of
Jurgen's life for a while: and as she rode she talked with Lancelot.

21.

How Anaïtis Voyaged

Now the tale tells that Jurgen and this Lady of the Lake came presently to the wharves of
Cameliard, and went aboard the ship which had brought Anaïtis and Merlin into Glathion.
This ship was now to every appearance deserted: yet all its saffron colored sails were spread,
as though in readiness for the ship's departure.

"The crew are scrambling, it may be, for the largesse, and fighting over Gogyrvan's silver
pieces," says Anaïtis, "but I think they will not be long in returning. So we will sit here upon
the prow, and await their leisure."

77
"But already the vessel moves," says Jurgen, "and I hear behind us the rattling of silver chains
and the flapping of shifted saffron-colored sails."

"They are roguish fellows," says Anaïtis, smiling. "Evidently, they hid from us, pretending
there was nobody aboard. Now they think to give us a surprise when the ship sets out to sea as
though it were of itself. But we will disappoint these merry rascals, by seeming to notice
nothing unusual."

So Jurgen sat with Anaïtis in the two tall chairs that were in the prow of the vessel, under a
canopy of crimson stuff embroidered with gold dragons, and just back of the ship's
figurehead, which was a dragon painted with thirty colors: and the ship moved out of the
harbor, and so into the open sea. Thus they passed Enisgarth.

"And it is a queer crew that serve you, Anaïtis, who are Queen of Cocaigne: for I can hear
them talking, far back of us, and their language is all a cheeping and a twittering, as though
the mice and the bats were holding conference."

"Why, you must understand that these are outlanders who speak a dialect of their own, and are
not like any other people you have ever seen."

"Indeed, now, that is very probable, for I have seen none of your crew. Sometimes it is as
though small flickerings passed over the deck, and that is all."

"It is but the heat waves rising from the deck, for the day is warmer than you would think,
sitting here under this canopy. And besides, what call have you and I to be bothering over the
pranks of common mariners, so long as they do their proper duty?"

"I was thinking, O woman with unusual eyes, that these are hardly common mariners."

"And I was thinking, Duke Jurgen, that I would tell you a tale of the Old Gods, to make the
time speed more pleasantly as we sit here untroubled as a god and a goddess."

Now they had passed Camwy: and Anaïtis began to narrate the history of Anistar and
Calmoora and of the unusual concessions they granted each other, and of how Calmoora
contented her five lovers: and Jurgen found the tale perturbing.

While Anaïtis talked the sky grew dark, as though the sun were ashamed and veiled his shame
with clouds: and they went forward in a gray twilight which deepened steadily over a tranquil
sea. So they passed the lights of Sargyll, most remote of the Red Islands, while Anaïtis talked
of Procris and King Minos and Pasiphaë. As color went out of the air new colors entered into
the sea, which now assumed the varied gleams of water that has long been stagnant. And a
silence brooded over the sea, so that there was no noise anywhere except the sound of the
voice of Anaïtis, saying, "All men that live have but a little while to live, and none knows his
fate thereafter. So that a man possesses nothing certainly save a brief loan of his own body;
and yet the body of man is capable of much curious pleasure."

They came thus to a low-lying naked beach, where there was no sign of habitation. Anaïtis
said this was the land they were seeking, and they went ashore.

"Even now," says Jurgen, "I have seen none of the crew who brought us hither."

78
And the beautiful dark woman shrugged, and marveled why he need perpetually be bothering
over the doings of common sailors.

They went forward across the beach, through sand hills, to a moor, seeing no one, and
walking in a gray fog. They passed many gray fat sluggish worms and some curious gray
reptiles such as Jurgen had never imagined to exist, but Anaïtis said these need not trouble
them.

"So there is no call to be fingering your charmed sword as we walk here, Duke Jurgen, for
these great worms do not ever harm the living."

"For whom, then, do they lie here in wait, in this gray fog, wherethrough the green lights
flutter, and wherethrough I hear at times a thin and far-off wailing?"

"What is that to you, Duke Jurgen, since you and I are still in the warm flesh? Surely there
was never a man who asked more idle questions."

"Yet this is an uncomfortable twilight."

"To the contrary, you should rejoice that it is a fog too heavy to be penetrated by the Moon."

"But what have I to do with the Moon?"

"Nothing, as yet. And that is as well for you, Duke Jurgen, since it is authentically reported
you have derided the day which is sacred to the Moon. Now the Moon does not love derision,
as I well know, for in part I serve the Moon."

"Eh?" says Jurgen: and he began to reflect.

So they came to a wall that was high and gray, and to the door which was in the wall.

"You must knock two or three times," says Anaïtis, "to get into
Cocaigne."

Jurgen observed the bronze knocker upon the door, and he grinned in order to hide his
embarrassment.

"It is a quaint fancy," said he, "and the two constituents of it appear to have been modeled
from life."

"They were copied very exactly from Adam and Eve," says Anaïtis, "who were the first
persons to open this gateway."

"Why, then," says Jurgen, "there is no earthly doubt that men degenerate, since here under my
hand is the proof of it."

With that he knocked, and the door opened, and the two of them entered.

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22.

As to a Veil They Broke

So it was that Jurgen came into Cocaigne, wherein is the bedchamber of Time. And Time,
they report, came in with Jurgen, since Jurgen was mortal: and Time, they say, rejoiced in this
respite from the slow toil of dilapidating cities stone by stone, and with his eyes tired by the
finicky work of etching in wrinkles, went happily into his bedchamber, and fell asleep just
after sunset on this fine evening in late June: so that the weather remained fair and changeless,
with no glaring sun rays anywhere, and with one large star shining alone in clear daylight.
This was the star of Venus Mechanitis, and Jurgen later derived considerable amusement from
noting how this star was trundled about the dome of heaven by a largish beetle, named
Khepre. And the trees everywhere kept their first fresh foliage, and the birds were about their
indolent evening songs, all during Jurgen's stay in Cocaigne, for Time had gone to sleep at the
pleasantest hour of the year's most pleasant season. So tells the tale.

And Jurgen's shadow also went in with Jurgen, but in Cocaigne as in Glathion, nobody save
Jurgen seemed to notice this curious shadow which now followed Jurgen everywhere.

In Cocaigne Queen Anaïtis had a palace, where domes and pinnacles beyond numbering
glimmered with a soft whiteness above the top of an old twilit forest, wherein the vegetation
was unlike that which is nourished by ordinary earth. There was to be seen in these woods, for
instance, a sort of moss which made Jurgen shudder. So Anaïtis and Jurgen came through
narrow paths, like murmuring green caverns, into a courtyard walled and paved with yellow
marble, wherein was nothing save the dimly colored statue of a god with ten heads and thirty-
four arms: he was represented as very much engrossed by a woman, and with his unoccupied
hands was holding yet other women.

"It is Jigsbyed," said Anaïtis.

Said Jurgen: "I do not criticize. Nevertheless, I think this

Jigsbyed is carrying matters to extremes."

Then they passed the statue of Tangaro Loloquong, and afterward the statue of Legba. Jurgen
stroked his chin, and his color heightened. "Now certainly, Queen Anaïtis," he said, "you have
unusual taste in sculpture."

Thence Jurgen came with Anaïtis into a white room, with copper plaques upon the walls, and
there four girls were heating water in a brass tripod. They bathed Jurgen, giving him
astonishing caresses meanwhile—with the tongue, the hair, the finger-nails, and the tips of the
breasts,—and they anointed him with four oils, then dressed him again in his glittering shirt.
Of Caliburn, said Anaïtis, there was no present need: so Jurgen's sword was hung upon the
wall.

These girls brought silver bowls containing wine mixed with honey, and they brought
pomegranates and eggs and barleycorn, and triangular red-colored loaves, whereon they
sprinkled sweet-smelling little seeds with formal gestures. Then Anaïtis and Jurgen broke
their fast, eating together while the four girls served them.

80
"And now," says Jurgen, "and now, my dear, I would suggest that we enter into the pursuit of
those curious pleasures of which you were telling me."

"I am very willing," responded Anaïtis, "since there is no one of these pleasures but is
purchased by some diversion of man's nature. Yet first, as I need hardly inform you, there is a
ceremonial to be observed."

"And what, pray, is this ceremonial?"

"Why, we call it the Breaking of the Veil." And Queen Anaïtis explained what they must do.

"Well," says Jurgen, "I am willing to taste any drink once."

So Anaïtis led Jurgen into a sort of chapel, adorned with very unchurchlike paintings. There
were four shrines, dedicated severally to St. Cosmo, to St. Damianus, to St. Guignole of Brest,
and to St. Foutin de Varailles. In this chapel were a hooded man, clothed in long garments
that were striped with white and yellow, and two naked children, both girls. One of the
children carried a censer: the other held in one hand a vividly blue pitcher half filled with
water, and in her left hand a cellar of salt.

First of all, the hooded man made Jurgen ready. "Behold the lance," said the hooded man,
"which must serve you in this adventure."

"I accept the adventure," Jurgen replied, "because I believe the weapon to be trustworthy."

Said the hooded man: "So be it! but as you are, so once was I."

Meanwhile Duke Jurgen held the lance erect, shaking it with his right hand. This lance was
large, and the tip of it was red with blood.

"Behold," said Jurgen, "I am a man born of a woman incomprehensibly. Now I, who am
miraculous, am found worthy to perform a miracle, and to create that which I may not
comprehend."

Anaïtis took salt and water from the child, and mingled these. "Let the salt of earth enable the
thin fluid to assume the virtue of the teeming sea!"

Then, kneeling, she touched the lance, and began to stroke it lovingly. To Jurgen she said:
"Now may you be fervent of soul and body! May the endless Serpent be your crown, and the
fertile flame of the sun your strength!"

Said the hooded man, again: "So be it!" His voice was high and bleating, because of that
which had been done to him.

"That therefore which we cannot understand we also invoke," said Jurgen. "By the power of
the lifted lance"—and now with his left hand he took the hand of Anaïtis,—"I, being a man
born of a woman incomprehensibly, now seize upon that which alone I desire with my whole
being. I lead you toward the east. I upraise you above the earth and all the things of earth."

81
Then Jurgen raised Queen Anaïtis so that she sat upon the altar, and that which was there
before tumbled to the ground. Anaïtis placed together the tips of her thumbs and of her
fingers, so that her hands made an open triangle; and waited thus. Upon her head was a
network of red coral, with branches radiating downward: her gauzy tunic had twenty-two
openings, so as to admit all imaginable caresses, and was of two colors, being shot with black
and crimson curiously mingled: her dark eyes glittered and her breath came fast.

Now the hooded man and the two naked girls performed their share in the ceremonial, which
part it is not essential to record. But Jurgen was rather shocked by it.

None the less, Jurgen said: "O cord that binds the circling of the stars! O cup which holds all
time, all color, and all thought! O soul of space! not unto any image of thee do we attain
unless thy image show in what we are about to do. Therefore by every plant which scatters its
seed and by the moist warm garden which receives and nourishes it, by the comminglement of
bloodshed with pleasure, by the joy that mimics anguish with sighs and shudderings, and by
the contentment which mimics death,—by all these do we invoke thee. O thou, continuous
one, whose will these children attend, and whom I now adore in this fair-colored and soft
woman's body, it is thou whom I honor, not any woman, in doing what seems good to me: and
it is thou who art about to speak, and not she."

Then Anaïtis said: "Yea, for I speak with the tongue of every woman, and I shine in the eyes
of every woman, when the lance is lifted. To serve me is better than all else. When you invoke
me with a heart wherein is kindled the serpent flame, if but for a moment, you will understand
the delights of my garden, what joy unwordable pulsates therein, and how potent is the sole
desire which uses all of a man. To serve me you will then be eager to surrender whatever else
is in your life: and other pleasures you will take with your left hand, not thinking of them
entirely: for I am the desire which uses all of a man, and so wastes nothing. And I accept you,
I yearn toward you, I who am daughter and somewhat more than daughter to the Sun. I who
am all pleasure, all ruin, and a drunkenness of the inmost sense, desire you."

Now Jurgen held his lance erect before Anaïtis. "O secret of all things, hidden in the being of
all which lives, now that the lance is exalted I do not dread thee: for thou art in me, and I am
thou. I am the flame that burns in every beating heart and in the core of the farthest star. I too
am life and the giver of life, and in me too is death. Wherein art thou better than I? I am alone:
my will is justice: and there comes no other god where I am."

Said the hooded man behind Jurgen: "So be it! but as you are, so once was I."

The two naked children stood one at each side of Anaïtis, and waited there trembling. These
girls, as Jurgen afterward learned, were Alecto and Tisiphonê, two of the Eumenidês. And
now Jurgen shifted the red point of the lance, so that it rested in the open triangle made by the
fingers of Anaïtis.

"I am life and the giver of life," cried Jurgen. "Thou that art one, that makest use of all! I who
am a man born of woman, I in my station honor thee in honoring this desire which uses all of
a man. Make open therefore the way of creation, encourage the flaming dust which is in our
hearts, and aid us in that flame's perpetuation! For is not that thy law?"

Anaïtis answered: "There is no law in Cocaigne save, Do that which seems good to you."

82
Then said the naked children: "Perhaps it is the law, but certainly it is not justice. Yet we are
little and quite helpless. So presently we must be made as you are for now you two are no
longer two, and your flesh is not shared merely with each other. For your flesh becomes our
flesh, and your sins our sins: and we have no choice."

Jurgen lifted Anaïtis from the altar, and they went into the chancel and searched for the
adytum. There seemed to be no doors anywhere in the chancel: but presently Jurgen found an
opening screened by a pink veil. Jurgen thrust with his lance and broke this veil. He heard the
sound of one brief wailing cry: it was followed by soft laughter. So Jurgen came into the
adytum.

Black candles were burning in this place, and sulphur too was burning there, before a scarlet
cross, of which the top was a circle, and whereon was nailed a living toad. And other curious
matters Jurgen likewise noticed.

He laughed, and turned to Anaïtis: now that the candles were behind him, she was standing in
his shadow. "Well, well! but you are a little old-fashioned, with all these equivocal
mummeries. And I did not know that civilized persons any longer retained sufficient credulity
to wring a thrill from god-baiting. Still, women must be humored, bless them! and at last, I
take it, we have quite fairly fulfilled the ceremonial requisite to the pursuit of curious
pleasures."

Queen Anaïtis was very beautiful, even under his bedimming shadow. Triumphant too was
the proud face beneath that curious coral network, and yet this woman's face was sad.

"Dear fool," she said, "it was not wise, when you sang of the Léshy, to put an affront upon
Monday. But you have forgotten that. And now you laugh because that which we have done
you do not understand: and equally that which I am you do not understand."

"No matter what you may be, my dear, I am sure that you will presently tell me all about it.
For I assume that you mean to deal fairly with me."

"I shall do that which becomes me, Duke Jurgen—"

"That is it, my dear, precisely! You intend to be true to yourself, whatever happens. The
aspiration does you infinite honor, and I shall try to help you. Now I have noticed that every
woman is most truly herself," says Jurgen, oracularly, "in the dark."

Then Jurgen looked at her for a moment, with twinkling eyes: then
Anaïtis, standing in his shadow, smiled with glowing eyes: then
Jurgen blew out those black candles: and then it was quite dark.

23.

Shortcomings of Prince Jurgen

83
Now the happenings just recorded befell on the eve of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist: and
thereafter Jurgen abode in Cocaigne, and complied with the customs of that country.

In the palace of Queen Anaïtis, all manner of pastimes were practised without any cessation.
Jurgen, who considered himself to be somewhat of an authority upon such contrivances, was
soon astounded by his own innocence. For Anaïtis showed him whatever was being done in
Cocaigne, to this side and to that side, under the direction of Anaïtis, whom Jurgen found to
be a nature myth of doubtful origin connected with the Moon; and who, in consequence, ruled
not merely in Cocaigne but furtively swayed the tides of life everywhere the Moon keeps any
power over tides. It was the mission of Anaïtis to divert and turn aside and deflect: in this the
jealous Moon abetted her because sunlight makes for straightforwardness. So Anaïtis and the
Moon were staunch allies. These mysteries of their private relations, however, as revealed to
Jurgen, are not very nicely repeatable.

"But you dishonored the Moon, Prince Jurgen, denying praise to the day of the Moon. Or so,
at least, I have heard."

"I remember doing nothing of the sort. But I remember considering it unjust to devote one
paltry day to the Moon's majesty. For night is sacred to the Moon, each night that ever was the
friend of lovers,—night, the renewer and begetter of all life."

"Why, indeed, there is something in that argument," says Anaïtis, dubiously.

"'Something', do you say! why, but to my way of thinking it proves the Moon is precisely
seven times more honorable than any of the Léshy. It is merely, my dear, a question of
arithmetic."

"Was it for that reason you did not praise Pandelis and her Mondays with the other Léshy?"

"Why, to be sure," said Jurgen, glibly. "I did not find it at all praiseworthy that such an
insignificant Léshy as Pandelis should name her day after the Moon: to me it seemed
blasphemy." Then Jurgen coughed, and looked sidewise at his shadow. "Had it been Sereda,
now, the case would have been different, and the Moon might well have appreciated the
delicate compliment."

Anaïtis appeared relieved. "I shall report your explanation. Candidly, there were ill things in
store for you, Prince Jurgen, because your language was misunderstood. But that which you
now say puts quite a different complexion upon matters."

Jurgen laughed, not understanding the mystery, but confident he could always say whatever
was required of him.

"Now let us see a little more of Cocaigne!" cries Jurgen.

For Jurgen was greatly interested by the pursuits of Cocaigne, and for a week or ten days
participated therein industriously. Anaïtis, who reported the Moon's honor to be satisfied, now
spared no effort to divert him, and they investigated innumerable pastimes together.

"For all men that live have but a little while to live," said Anaïtis, "and none knows his fate
thereafter. So that a man possesses nothing certainly save a brief loan of his body: and yet the

84
body of man is capable of much curious pleasure. As thus and thus," says Anaïtis. And she
revealed devices to her Prince Consort.

For Jurgen found that unknowingly he had in due and proper form espoused Queen Anaïtis,
by participating in the Breaking of the Veil, which is the marriage ceremony of Cocaigne. His
earlier relations with Dame Lisa had, of course, no legal standing in Cocaigne, where the
Church is not Christian and the Law is, Do that which seems good to you.

"Well, when in Rome," said Jurgen, "one must be romantic. But certainly this proves that
nobody ever knows when he is being entrapped into respectability: and never did a fine young
fellow marry a high queen with less premeditation."

"Ah, my dear," says Anaïtis, "you were controlled by the finger of

Fate."

"I do not altogether like that figure of speech. It makes one seem too trivial, to be controlled
by a mere finger. No, it is not quite complimentary to call what prompted me a finger."

"By the long arm of coincidence, then."

"Much more appropriate, my love," says Jurgen, complacently: "it sounds more dignified, and
does not wound my self esteem."

Now this Anaïtis who was Queen of Cocaigne was a delicious tall dark woman, thinnish, and
lovely, and very restless. From the first her new Prince Consort was puzzled by her fervors,
and presently was fretted by them. He humbly failed to understand how anyone could be so
frantic over Jurgen. It seemed unreasonable. And in her more affectionate moments this
nature myth positively frightened him: for transports such as these could not but rouse
discomfortable reminiscences of the female spider, who ends such recreations by devouring
her partner.

"Thus to be loved is very flattering," he would reflect, "and I again am Jurgen, asking odds of
none. But even so, I am mortal. She ought to remember that, in common fairness."

Then the jealousy of Anaïtis, while equally flattering, was equally out of reason. She
suspected everybody, seemed assured that every bosom cherished a mad passion for Jurgen,
and that not for a moment could he be trusted. Well, as Jurgen frankly conceded, his conduct
toward Stella, that ill-starred yogini of Indawadi, had in point of fact displayed, when viewed
from an especial and quite unconscionable point of view, an aspect which, when isolated by
persons judging hastily, might, just possibly, appear to approach remotely, in one or two
respects, to temporary forgetfulness of Anaïtis, if indeed there were people anywhere so
mentally deficient as to find such forgetfulness conceivable.

But the main thing, the really important feature, which Anaïtis could not be made to
understand, was that she had interrupted her consort in what was, in effect, a philosophical
experiment, necessarily attempted in the dark. The muntrus requisite to the sacti sodhana were
always performed in darkness: everybody knew that. For the rest, this Stella had asserted so-
and-so; in simple equity she was entitled to a chance to prove her allegations if she could: so
Jurgen had proceeded to deal fairly with her. Besides, why keep talking about this Stella, after
a vengeance so spectacular and thorough as that to which Anaïtis had out of hand resorted?

85
why keep reverting to a topic which was repugnant to Jurgen and visibly upset the dearest
nature myth in all legend? Was it quite fair to anyone concerned? That was the sensible way
in which Jurgen put it.

Still, he became honestly fond of Anaïtis. Barring her eccentricities when roused to passion,
she was a generous and kindly creature, although in Jurgen's opinion somewhat narrow-
minded.

"My love," he would say to her, "you appear positively unable to keep away from virtuous
persons! You are always seeking out the people who endeavor to be upright and
straightforward, and you are perpetually laying plans to divert these people. Ah, but why
bother about them? What need have you to wear yourself out, and to devote your entire time
to such proselitizing, when you might be so much more agreeably employed? You should
learn, in justice to yourself as well as to others, to be tolerant of all things; and to
acknowledge that in a being of man's mingled nature a strain of respectability is apt to
develop every now and then, whatever you might prefer."

But Anaïtis had high notions as to her mission, and merely told him that he ought not to speak
with levity of such matters. "I would be much happier staying at home with you and the
children," she would say, "but I feel that it is my duty—"

"And your duty to whom, in heaven's name?"

"Please do not employ such distasteful expressions, Jurgen. It is my duty to the power I serve,
my very manifest duty to my creator. But you have no sense of religion, I am afraid; and the
reflection is often a considerable grief to me."

"Ah, but, my dear, you are quite certain as to who made you, and for what purpose you were
made. You nature myths were created in the Mythopoeic age by the perversity of old heathen
nations: and you serve your creator religiously. That is quite as it should be. But I have no
such authentic information as to my origin and mission in life, I appear at all events to have
no natural talent for being diverted, I do not take to it wholeheartedly, and these are facts we
have to face." Now Jurgen put his arm around her. "My dear Anaïtis, you must not think it
mere selfishness on my part. I was born with a something lacking that is requisite for anyone
who aspires to be as thoroughly misled as most people: and you will have to love me in spite
of it."

"I almost wish I had never seen you as I saw you in that corridor, Jurgen. For I felt drawn
toward you then and there. I almost wish I had never seen you at all. I cannot help being fond
of you: and yet you laugh at the things I know to be required of me, and sometimes you make
me laugh, too."

"But, darling, are you not just the least, littlest, tiniest, very weest trifle bigoted? For instance,
I can see that you think I ought to evince more interest in your striking dances, and your
strange pleasures, and your surprising caresses, and all your other elaborate diversions. And I
do think they do you credit, great credit, and I admire your inventiveness no less than your
industry—"

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"You have no sense of reverence, Jurgen, you seem to have no sense at all of what is due to
one's creator. I suppose you cannot help that: but you might at least remember it troubles me
to hear you talk so flippantly of my religion."

"But I do not talk flippantly—"

"Indeed you do, though. And it does not sound at all well, let me tell you."

"—Instead, I but point out that your creed necessitates, upon the whole, an ardor I lack. You,
my pet, were created by perversity: and everyone knows it is the part of piety to worship one's
creator in fashions acceptable to that creator. So, I do not criticize your religious connections,
dear, and nobody admires these ceremonials of your faith more heartily than I do. I merely
confess that to celebrate these rites so frequently requires a sustention of enthusiasm which is
beyond me. In fine, I have not your fervent temperament, I am more sceptical. You may be
right; and certainly I cannot go so far as to say you are wrong: but still, at the same time—!
That is how I feel about it, my precious, and that is why I find, with constant repetition of
these ceremonials, a certain lack of firmness developing in my responses: and finally, darling,
that is all there is to it."

"I never in my whole incarnation had such a Prince Consort! Sometimes I think you do not
care a bit about me one way or the other, Jurgen."

"Ah, but I do care for you very much. And to prove it, come now let us try some brand-new
diversion, at sight of which the skies will be blackened and the earth will shudder or
something of that sort, and then I will take the children fishing, as I promised."

"No, Jurgen, I do not feel like diverting you just now. You take all the solemnity out of it with
your jeering. Besides, you are always with the children. Jurgen, I believe you are fonder of the
children than you are of me. And when you are not with them you are locked up in the
Library."

"Well, and was there ever such a treasury as the Library of Cocaigne? All the diversions that
you nature myths have practised I find recorded there: and to read of your ingenious devices
delights and maddens me. For it is eminently interesting to meditate upon strange pleasures,
and to make verses about them is the most amiable of avocations: it is merely the pursuit of
them that I would discourage, as disappointing and mussy. Besides, the Library is the only
spot I have to myself in the palace, what with your fellow nature myths making the most of
life all over the place."

"It is necessary, Jurgen, for one in my position to entertain more or less. And certainly I
cannot close the doors against my own relatives."

"Such riffraff, though, my darling! Such odds and ends! I cannot congratulate you upon your
kindred, for I do not get on at all with these patchwork combinations, that are one-third man
and the other two-thirds a vulgar fraction of bull or hawk or goat or serpent or ape or jackal or
what not. Priapos is the only male myth who comes here in anything like the semblance of a
complete human being: and I had infinitely rather he stayed away, because even I who am
Jurgen cannot but be envious of him."

"And why, pray?"

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"Well, where I go reasonably equipped with Caliburn, Priapos carries a lance I envy—"

"Like all the Bacchic myths he usually carries a thyrsos, and it is a showy weapon, certainly;
but it is not of much use in actual conflict."

"My darling! and how do you know?"

"Why, Jurgen, how do women always know these things?—by intuition,

I suppose."

"You mean that you judge all affairs by feeling rather than reason? Indeed, I dare say that is
true of most women, and men are daily chafed and delighted, about equally, by your illogical
method of putting things together. But to get back to the congenial task of criticizing your
kindred, your cousin Apis, for example, may be a very good sort of fellow: but, say what you
will, it is ill-advised of him to be going about in public with a bull's head. It makes him
needlessly conspicuous, if not actually ridiculous: and it puts me out when I try to talk to
him."

"Now, Jurgen, pray remember that you speak of a very generally respected myth, and that you
are being irreverent—"

"—And moreover, I take the liberty of repeating, my darling, that even though this Ba of
Mendes is your cousin, it honestly does embarrass me to have to meet three-quarters of a goat
socially—"

"But, Jurgen, I must as a master of course invite prolific Ba to my feasts of the Sacæ—"

"Even so, my dear, in issuing invitations a hostess may fairly presuppose that her guests will
not make beasts of themselves. I often wish that this mere bit of ordinary civility were more
rigorously observed by Ba and Hortanes and Fricco and Vul and Baal-Peor, and by all your
other cousins who come to visit you in such a zoologically muddled condition. It shows a
certain lack of respect for you, my darling."

"Oh, but it is all in the family, Jurgen—"

"Besides, they have no conversation. They merely bellow—or twitter or bleat or low or gibber
or purr, according to their respective incarnations,—about unspeakable mysteries and
monstrous pleasures until I am driven to the verge of virtue by their imbecility."

"If you were more practical, Jurgen, you would realize that it speaks splendidly for anyone to
be really interested in his vocation—"

"And your female relatives are just as annoying, with their eternal whispered enigmas, and
their crescent moons, and their mystic roses that change color and require continual
gardening, and their pathetic belief that I have time to fool with them. And the entire pack
practises symbolism until the house is positively littered with asherahs and combs and
phalloses and linghams and yonis and arghas and pulleiars and talys, and I do not know what
other idiotic toys that I am continually stepping on!"

"Which of those minxes has been making up to you?" says Anaïtis, her eyes snapping.

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"Ah, ah! now many of your female cousins are enticing enough—"

"I knew it! Oh, but you need not think you deluded me—!"

"My darling, pray consider! be reasonable about it! Your feminine guests at present are
Sekhmet in the form of a lioness, Io incarnated as a cow, Hekt as a frog, Derceto as a
sturgeon, and—ah, yes!—Thoueris as a hippopotamus. I leave it to your sense of justice, dear
Anaïtis, if of ladies with such tastes in dress a lovely myth like you can reasonably be
jealous."

"And I know perfectly well who it is! It is that Ephesian hussy, and I had several times
noticed her behavior. Very well, oh, very well, indeed! nevertheless, I shall have a plain word
or two with her at once, and the sooner she gets out of my house the better, as I shall tell her
quite frankly. And as for you, Jurgen—!"

"But, my dear Lisa—!"

"What do you call me? Lisa was never an epithet of mine. Why do you call me Lisa?"

"It was a slip of the tongue, my pet, an involuntary but not unnatural association of ideas. As
for the Ephesian Diana, she reminds me of an animated pine-cone, with that eruption of
breasts all over her, and I can assure you of your having no particular reason to be jealous of
her. It was merely of the female myths in general I spoke. Of course they all make eyes at me:
I cannot well help that, and you should have anticipated as much when you selected such an
attractive Prince Consort. What do these poor enamored creatures matter when to you my
heart is ever faithful?"

"It is not your heart I am worrying over, Jurgen, for I believe you have none. Yes, you have
quite succeeded in worrying me to distraction, if that is any comfort to you. However, let us
not talk about it. For it is now necessary, absolutely imperative, that I go into Armenia to take
part in the mourning for Tammouz: people would not understand it at all if I stayed away
from such important orgies. And I shall get no benefit whatever from the trip, much as I need
the change, because, without speaking of that famous heart of yours, you are always up to
some double-dealing, and I shall not know into what mischief you may be thrusting yourself."

Jurgen laughed, and kissed her. "Be off, and attend to your religious duties, dear, by all
means. And I promise you I will stay safe locked in the Library till you come back."

Thus Jurgen abode among the offspring of heathen perversity, and conformed to their
customs. Death ends all things for all, they contended, and life is brief: for how few years do
men endure, and how quickly is the most subtle and appalling nature myth explained away by
the Philologists! So the wise person, and equally the foreseeing nature myth, will take his glut
of pleasure while there is yet time to take anything, and will waste none of his short lien upon
desire and vigor by asking questions.

"Oh, but by all means!" said Jurgen, and he docilely crowned himself with a rose garland, and
drank his wine, and kissed his Anaïtis. Then, when the feast of the Sacæ was at full-tide, he
would whisper to Anaïtis, "I will be back in a moment, darling," and she would frown fondly
at him as he very quietly slipped from his ivory dining couch, and went, with the merest
suspicion of a reel, into the Library. She knew that Jurgen had no intention of coming back:

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and she despaired of his ever taking the position in the social life of Cocaigne to which he was
entitled no less by his rank as Prince Consort than by his personal abilities. For Anaïtis did not
really think that, as went natural endowments, her Jurgen had much reason to envy even such
a general favorite as Priapos, say, from what she knew of both.

So it was that Jurgen honored custom. "Because these beastly nature myths may be right,"
said Jurgen; "and certainly I cannot go so far as to say they are wrong: but still, at the same
time—!"

For Jurgen was content to dismiss no riddle with a mere "I do not know." Jurgen was no more
able to give up questioning the meaning of life than could a trout relinquish swimming:
indeed, he lived submerged in a flood of curiosity and doubt, as his native element. That death
ended all things might very well be the case: yet if the outcome proved otherwise, how much
more pleasant it would be, for everyone concerned, to have aforetime established amicable
relations with the overlords of his second life, by having done whatever it was they expected
of him here.

"Yes, I feel that something is expected of me," says Jurgen: "and without knowing what it is, I
am tolerably sure, somehow, that it is not an indulgence in endless pleasure. Besides, I do not
think death is going to end all for me. If only I could be quite certain my encounter with King
Smoit, and with that charming little Sylvia Tereu, was not a dream! As it is, plain reasoning
assures me I am not indispensable to the universe: but with this reasoning, somehow, does not
travel my belief. No, it is only fair to my own interests to go graveward a little more
openmindedly than do these nature myths, since I lack the requisite credulity to become a
free-thinking materialist. To believe that we know nothing assuredly, and cannot ever know
anything assuredly, is to take too much on faith."

And Jurgen paused to shake his sleek black head two or three times, very sagely.

"No, I cannot believe in nothingness being the destined end of all: that would be too futile a
climax to content a dramatist clever enough to have invented Jurgen. No, it is just as I said to
the brown man: I cannot believe in the annihilation of Jurgen by any really thrifty overlords;
so I shall see to it that Jurgen does nothing which he cannot more or less plausibly excuse, in
case of supernal inquiries. That is far safer."

Now Jurgen was shaking his head again: and he sighed.

"For the pleasures of Cocaigne do not satisfy me. They are all well enough in their way; and I
admit the truism that in seeking bed and board two heads are better than one. Yes, Anaïtis
makes me an excellent wife. Nevertheless, her diversions do not satisfy me, and gallantly to
make the most of life is not enough. No, it is something else that I desire: and Anaïtis does not
quite understand me."

24.

Of Compromises in Cocaigne

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Thus Jurgen abode for a little over two months in Cocaigne, and complied with the customs of
that country. Nothing altered in Cocaigne: but in the world wherein Jurgen was reared, he
knew, it would by this time be September, with the leaves flaring gloriously, and the birds
flocking southward, and the hearts of Jurgen's fellows turning to not unpleasant regrets. But in
Cocaigne there was no regret and no variability, but only an interminable flow of curious
pleasures, illumined by the wandering star of Venus Mechanitis.

"Why is it, then, that I am not content?" said Jurgen. "And what thing is this which I desire? It
seems to me there is some injustice being perpetrated upon Jurgen, somewhere."

Meanwhile he lived with Anaïtis the Sun's daughter very much as he had lived with Lisa, who
was daughter to a pawnbroker. Anaïtis displayed upon the whole a milder temper: in part
because she could confidently look forward to several centuries more of life before being
explained away by the Philologists, and so had less need than Dame Lisa to worry over
temporal matters; and in part because there was less to ruin one's disposition in two months
than in ten years of Jurgen's company. Anaïtis nagged and sulked for a while when her Prince
Consort slackened in the pursuit of strange delights, as he did very soon, with frank
confession that his tastes were simple and that these outlandish refinements bored him. Later
Anaïtis seemed to despair of his ever becoming proficient in curious pleasures, and she
permitted Jurgen to lead a comparatively normal life, with only an occasional and half-hearted
remonstrance.

What puzzled Jurgen was that she did not seem to tire of him: and he would often wonder
what this lovely myth, so skilled and potent in arts wherein he was the merest bungler, could
find to care for in Jurgen. For now they lived together like any other humdrum married
couple, and their occasional exchange of endearments was as much a matter of course as their
meals, and hardly more exciting.

"Poor dear, I believe it is simply because I am a monstrous clever fellow. She distrusts my
cleverness, she very often disapproves of it, and yet she values it as queer, as a sort of
curiosity. Well, but who can deny that cleverness is truly a curiosity in Cocaigne?"

So Anaïtis petted and pampered her Prince Consort, and took such open pride in his queerness
as very nearly embarrassed him sometimes. She could not understand his attitude of polite
amusement toward his associates and the events which befell him, and even toward his own
doings and traits. Whatever happened, Jurgen shrugged, and, delicately avoiding actual
laughter, evinced amusement. Anaïtis could not understand this at all, of course, since Asian
myths are remarkably destitute of humor. To Jurgen in private she protested that he ought to
be ashamed of his levity: but none the less, she would draw him out, when among the bestial
and grim nature myths, and she would glow visibly with fond pride in Jurgen's queerness.

"She mothers me," reflected Jurgen. "Upon my word, I believe that in the end this is the only
way in which females are capable of loving. And she is a dear and lovely creature, of whom I
am sincerely fond. What is this thing, then, that I desire? Why do I feel life is not treating me
quite justly?"

So the summer had passed; and Anaïtis travelled a great deal, being a popular myth in every
land. Her sense of duty was so strong that she endeavored to grace in person all the peculiar
festivals held in her honor, and this, now the harvest season was at hand, left her with hardly a
moment disengaged. Then, too, the mission of Anaïtis was to divert; and there were so many

91
people whom she had personally to visit—so many notable ascetics who were advancing
straight toward canonization, and whom her underlings were unable to divert,—that Anaïtis
was compelled to pass night after night in unwholesomely comfortless surroundings, in
monasteries and in the cells and caves of hermits.

"You are wearing yourself out, my darling," Jurgen would say: "and does it not seem, after
all, a game that is hardly worth the candle? I know that, for my part, before I would travel so
many miles into a desert, and then climb a hundred foot pillar, just to whisper diverting
notions into an anchorite's very dirty ear, I would let the gaunt rascal go to Heaven. But you
associate so much with saintly persons that you have contracted their incapacity for seeing the
humorous side of things. Well, you are a dear, even so. Here is a kiss for you: and do you
come back to your adoring husband as soon as you conveniently can without neglecting your
duty."

"They report that this Stylites is very far gone in rectitude," said Anaïtis, absent-mindedly, as
she prepared for the journey, "but I have hopes for him."

Then Anaïtis put purple powder on her hair, and hastily got together a few beguiling devices,
and went into the Thebaid. Jurgen went back to the Library, and the System of Worshipping a
Girl, and the unique manuscripts of Astyanassa and Elephantis and Sotadês, and the
Dionysiac Formulae, and the Chart of Postures, and the Litany of the Centre of Delight, and
the Spintrian Treatises, and the Thirty-two Gratifications, and innumerable other volumes
which he found instructive.

The Library was a vaulted chamber, having its walls painted with the twelve Asan of Cyrenê;
the ceiling was frescoed with the arched body of a woman, whose toes rested upon the cornice
of the east wall, and whose out-stretched finger-tips touched the cornice of the western wall.
The clothing of this painted woman was remarkable: and to Jurgen her face was not
unfamiliar.

"Who is that?" he inquired, of Anaïtis.

Looking a little troubled, Anaïtis told him this was Æsred.

"Well, I have heard her called otherwise: and I have seen her in quite other clothing."

"You have seen Æsred!"

"Yes, with a kitchen towel about her head, and otherwise unostentatiously appareled—but
very becomingly, I can assure you!" Here Jurgen glanced sidewise at his shadow, and he
cleared his throat. "Oh, and a most charming and a most estimable old lady I found this Æsred
to be, I can assure you also."

"I would prefer to know nothing about it," said Anaïtis, hastily, "I would prefer, for both our
sakes, that you say no more of Æsred." Jurgen shrugged.

Now in the Library of Cocaigne was garnered a record of all that the nature myths had
invented in the way of pleasure. And here, with no companion save his queer shadow, and
with Æsred arched above and bleakly regarding him, Jurgen spent most of his time, rather
agreeably, in investigating and meditating upon the more curious of these recreations. The

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painted Asan were, in all conscience, food for wonder: but over and above these dozen
surprising pastimes, the books of Anaïtis revealed to Jurgen, without disguise or reticence,
every other far-fetched frolic of heathenry. Hitherto unheard-of forms of diversion were
unveiled to him, and every recreation which ingenuity had been able to contrive, for the
gratifying of the most subtle and the most strong-stomached tastes. No possible sort of
amusement would seem to have been omitted, in running the quaint gamut of refinements
upon nature which Anaïtis and her cousins had at odd moments invented, to satiate their
desire for some more suave or more strange or more sanguinary pleasure. Yet the deeper
Jurgen investigated, and the longer he meditated, the more certain it seemed to him that all
such employment was a peculiarly unimaginative pursuit of happiness.

"I am willing to taste any drink once. So I must give diversion a fair trial. But I am afraid
these are the games of mental childhood. Well, that reminds me I promised the children to
play with them for a while before supper."

So he came out, and presently, brave in the shirt of Nessus, and mimicked in every action by
that incongruous shadow, Prince Jurgen was playing tag with the three little Eumenidês, the
daughters of Anaïtis by her former marriage with Acheron, the King of Midnight.

Anaïtis and the dark potentate had parted by mutual consent. "Acheron meant well," she
would say, with a forgiving sigh, "and that in the Moon's absence he occasionally diverted
travellers, I do not deny. But he did not understand me."

And Jurgen agreed that this tragedy sometimes befell even the irreproachably diverting.

The three Eumenidês at this period were half-grown girls, whom their mother was carefully
tutoring to drive guilty persons mad by the stings of conscience: and very quaint it was to see
the young Furies at practise in the schoolroom, black-robed, and waving lighted torches, and
crowned each with her garland of pet serpents. They became attached to Jurgen, who was
always fond of children, and who had frequently regretted that Dame Lisa had borne him
none.

"It is enough to get the poor dear a name for eccentricity," he had been used to say.

So Jurgen now made much of his step-children: and indeed he found their innocent prattle
quite as intelligent, in essentials, as the talk of the full-grown nature myths who infested the
palace of Anaïtis. And the four of them—Jurgen, and critical Alecto, and grave Tisiphonê,
and fairy-like little Megæra,—would take long walks, and play with their dolls (though Alecto
was a trifle condescending toward dolls), and romp together in the eternal evening of
Cocaigne; and discuss what sort of dresses and trinkets Mother would probably bring them
when she came back from Ecbatana or Lesbos, and would generally enjoy themselves.

Rather pathetically earnest and unimaginative little lasses, Jurgen found the young
Eumenidês: they inherited much of their mother's narrow-mindedness, if not their father's
brooding and gloomy tendencies; but in them narrow-mindedness showed merely as amusing.
And Jurgen loved them, and would often reflect what a pity it was that these dear little girls
were destined when they reached maturity, to spend the rest of their lives in haunting
criminals and adulterers and parricides and, generally, such persons as must inevitably tarnish
the girls' outlook upon life, and lead them to see too much of the worst side of human nature.

93
So Jurgen was content enough. But still he was not actually happy, not even among the
endless pleasures of Cocaigne.

"And what is this thing that I desire?" he would ask himself, again and again.

And still he did not know: he merely felt he was not getting justice: and a dim sense of this
would trouble him even while he was playing with the Eumenidês.

25.

Cantraps of the Master Philologist

But now, as has been recorded, it was September, and Jurgen could see that Anaïtis too was
worrying over something. She kept it from him as long as possible: first said it was nothing at
all, then said he would know it soon enough, then wept a little over the possibility that he
would probably be very glad to hear it, and eventually told him. For in becoming the consort
of a nature myth connected with the Moon Jurgen had of course exposed himself to the
danger of being converted into a solar legend by the Philologists, and in that event would be
compelled to leave Cocaigne with the Equinox, to enter into autumnal exploits elsewhere.
And Anaïtis was quite heart-broken over the prospect of losing Jurgen.

"For I have never had such a Prince Consort in Cocaigne, so maddening, and so helpless, and
so clever; and the girls are so fond of you, although they have not been able to get on at all
with so many of their step-fathers! And I know that you are flippant and heartless, but you
have quite spoiled me for other men. No, Jurgen, there is no need to argue, for I have
experimented with at least a dozen lovers lately, when I was traveling, and they bored me
insufferably. They had, as you put it, dear, no conversation: and you are the only young man I
have found in all these ages who could talk interestingly."

"There is a reason for that, since like you, Anaïtis, I am not so youthful as I appear."

"I do not care a straw about appearances," wept Anaïtis, "but I know that I love you, and that
you must be leaving me with the Equinox unless you can settle matters with the Master
Philologist."

"Well, my pet," says Jurgen, "the Jews got into Jericho by trying."

He armed, and girded himself with Caliburn, drank a couple of bottles of wine, put on the
shirt of Nessus over all, and then went to seek this thaumaturgist.

Anaïtis showed him the way to an unpretentious residence, where a week's washing was
drying and flapping in the side yard. Jurgen knocked boldly, and after an interval the door was
opened by the Master Philologist himself.

"You must pardon this informality," he said, blinking through his great spectacles, which had
dust on them: "but time was by ill luck arrested hereabouts on a Thursday evening, and so the

94
maid is out indefinitely. I would suggest, therefore, that the lady wait outside upon the porch.
For the neighbors to see her go in would not be respectable."

"Do you know what I have come for?" says Jurgen, blustering, and splendid in his glittering
shirt and his gleaming armor. "For I warn you I am justice."

"I think you are lying, and I am sure you are making an unnecessary noise. In any event,
justice is a word, and I control all words."

"You will discover very soon, sir, that actions speak louder than words."

"I believe that is so," said the Master Philologist, still blinking, "just as the Jewish mob spoke
louder than He Whom they crucified. But the Word endures."

"You are a quibbler!"

"You are my guest. So I advise you, in pure friendliness, not to impugn the power of my
words."

Said Jurgen, scornfully: "But is justice, then, a word?"

"Oh, yes, it is one of the most useful. It is the Spanish justicia, the Portuguese justiça, the
Italian giustizia, all from the Latin justus. Oh, yes indeed, but justice is one of my best
connected words, and one of the best trained also, I can assure you."

"Aha, and to what degraded uses do you put this poor enslaved intimidated justice!"

"There is but one intelligent use," said the Master Philologist, unruffled, "for anybody to make
of words. I will explain it to you, if you will come in out of this treacherous draught. One
never knows what a cold may lead to."

Then the door closed upon them, and Anaïtis waited outside, in some trepidation.

Presently Jurgen came out of that unpretentious residence, and so back to Anaïtis,
discomfited. Jurgen flung down his magic sword, charmed Caliburn.

"This, Anaïtis, I perceive to be an outmoded weapon. There is no weapon like words, no

armor against words, and with words the Master Philologist has conquered me. It is not at all
equitable: but the man showed me a huge book wherein were the names of everything in the
world, and justice was not among them. It develops that, instead, justice is merely a common
noun, vaguely denoting an ethical idea of conduct proper to the circumstances, whether of
individuals or communities. It is, you observe, just a grammarian's notion."

"But what has he decided about you, Jurgen?"

"Alas, dear Anaïtis, he has decided, in spite of all that I could do, to derive Jurgen from
jargon, indicating a confused chattering such as birds give forth at sunrise: thus ruthlessly
does the Master Philologist convert me into a solar legend. So the affair is settled, and we
must part, my darling."

95
Anaïtis took up the sword. "But this is valuable, since the man who wields it is the mightiest
of warriors."

"It is a rush, a rotten twig, a broomstraw, against the insidious weapons of the Master
Philologist. But keep it if you like, my dear, and give it to your next Prince Consort. I am
ashamed to have trifled with such toys," says Jurgen, in fretted disgust. "And besides, the
Master Philologist assures me I shall mount far higher through the aid of this."

"But what is on that bit of parchment?"

"Thirty-two of the Master Philologist's own words that I begged of him. See, my dear, he
made this cantrap for me with his own hand and ink." And Jurgen read from the parchment,
impressively: "'At the death of Adrian the Fifth, Pedro Juliani, who should be named John the
Twentieth, was through an error in the reckoning elevated to the papal chair as John the
Twenty-first.'"

Said Anaïtis, blankly: "And is that all?"

"Why, yes: and surely thirty-two whole words should be enough for the most exacting."

"But is it magic? are you certain it is authentic magic?"

"I have learned that there is always magic in words."

"Now, if you ask my opinion, Jurgen, your cantrap is nonsense, and can never be of any
earthly use to anybody. Without boasting, dear, I have handled a great deal of black magic in
my day, but I never encountered a spell at all like this."

"None the less, my darling, it is evidently a cantrap, for else the

Master Philologist would never have given it to me."

"But how are you to use it, pray?"

"Why, as need directs," said Jurgen, and he put the parchment into the pocket of his glittering
shirt. "Yes, I repeat, there is always something to be done with words, and here are thirty-two
authentic words from the Master Philologist himself, not to speak of three commas and a full-
stop. Oh, I shall certainly go far with this."

"We women have firmer faith in the sword," replied Anaïtis. "At all events, you and I cannot
remain upon this thaumaturgist's porch indefinitely."

So Anaïtis put up Caliburn, and carried it from the thaumaturgist's unpretentious residence to
her fine palace in the old twilit wood: and afterward, as everybody knows, she gave this
sword to King Arthur, who with its aid rose to be hailed as one of the Nine Worthies of the
World. So did the husband of Guenevere win for himself eternal fame with that which Jurgen
flung away.

26.

96
In Time's Hour-Glass

"Well, well!" said Jurgen, when he had taken off all that foolish ironmongery, and had made
himself comfortable in his shirt; "well, beyond doubt, the situation is awkward. I was content
enough in Cocaigne, and it is unfair that I should be thus ousted. Still, a sensible person will
manage to be content anywhere. But whither, pray, am I expected to go?"

"Into whatever land you may elect, my dear," said Anaïtis, fondly. "That much at least I can
manage for you: and the interpretation of your legend can be arranged afterward."

"But I grow tired of all the countries I have ever seen, dear Anaïtis, and in my time I have
visited nearly all the lands that are known to men."

"That too can be arranged: and you can go instead into one of the countries which are desired
by men. Indeed there are a number of such realms which no man has ever visited except in
dreams, so that your choice is wide."

"But how am I to make a choice without having seen any of these countries? It is not fair to be
expecting me to do anything of the sort."

"Why, I will show them to you," Anaïtis replied.

The two of them then went together into a small blue chamber, the walls of which were
ornamented with gold stars placed helter-skelter. The room was entirely empty save for an
hour-glass near twice the height of a man.

"It is Time's own glass," said Anaïtis, "which was left in my keeping when Time went to
sleep."

Anaïtis opened a little door of carved crystal that was in the lower half of the hour-glass, just
above the fallen sands. With her finger-tips she touched the sand that was in Time's hour-
glass, and in the sand she drew a triangle with equal sides, she who was strangely gifted and
perverse. Then she drew just such another figure so that the tip of it penetrated the first
triangle. The sand began to smoulder there, and vapors rose into the upper part of the hour-
glass, and Jurgen saw that all the sand in Time's hour-glass was kindled by a magic generated
by the contact of these two triangles. And in the vapors a picture formed.

"I see a land of woods and rivers, Anaïtis. A very old fellow, regally crowned, lies asleep
under an ash-tree, guarded by a watchman who has more arms and hands than Jigsbyed."

"It is Atlantis you behold, and the sleeping of ancient Time—Time, to whom this glass
belongs,—while Briareus watches."

"Time sleeps quite naked, Anaïtis, and, though it is a delicate matter to talk about, I notice he
has met with a deplorable accident."

"So that Time begets nothing any more, Jurgen, the while he brings about old happenings
over and over, and changes the name of what is ancient, in order to persuade himself he has a

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new plaything. There is really no more tedious and wearing old dotard anywhere, I can assure
you. But Atlantis is only the western province of Cocaigne. Now do you look again, Jurgen!"

"Now I behold a flowering plain and three steep hills, with a castle upon each hill. There are
woods wherein the foliage is crimson: shining birds with white bodies and purple heads feed
upon the clusters of golden berries that grow everywhere: and people go about in green
clothes, with gold chains about their necks, and with broad bands of gold upon their arms, and
all these people have untroubled faces."

"That is Inislocha: and to the south is Inis Daleb, and to the north Inis Ercandra. And there is
sweet music to be listening to eternally, could we but hear the birds of Rhiannon, and there is
the best of wine to drink, and there delight is common. For thither comes nothing hard nor
rough, and no grief, nor any regret, nor sickness, nor age, nor death, for this is the Land of
Women, a land of many-colored hospitality."

"Why, then, it is no different from Cocaigne. And into no realm where pleasure is endless will
I ever venture again of my own free will, for I find that I do not enjoy pleasure."

Then Anaïtis showed him Ogygia, and Tryphême, and Sudarsana, and the
Fortunate Islands, and Æaea, and Caer-Is, and Invallis, and the
Hesperides, and Meropis, and Planasia, and Uttarra, and Avalon, and
Tir-nam-Beo, and Thelême, and a number of other lands to enter which
men have desired: and Jurgen groaned.

"I am ashamed of my fellows," says he: "for it appears their notion of felicity is to dwell
eternally in a glorified brothel. I do not think that as a self-respecting young Prince I would
care to inhabit any of these earthly paradises, for were there nothing else, I would always be
looking for an invasion by the police."

"There remains, then, but one other realm, which I have not shown you, in part because it is
an obscure little place, and in part because, for a reason that I have, I shall not assist you to go
thither. Still, there is Leukê, where Queen Helen rules: and Leukê it is that you behold."

"But Leukê seems like any other country in autumn, and appears to be reasonably free from
the fantastic animals and overgrown flowers which made the other paradises look childish.
Come now, there is an attractive simplicity about Leukê. I might put up with Leukê if the
local by-laws allowed me a rational amount of discomfort."

"Discomfort you would have full measure. For the heart of no man remains untroubled after
he has once viewed Queen Helen and the beauty that is hers. It is for that reason, Jurgen, I
shall not help you to go into Leukê: for in Leukê you would forget me, having seen Queen
Helen."

"Why, what nonsense you are talking, my darling! I will wager she cannot hold a candle to
you."

"See for yourself!" said Anaïtis, sadly.

Now through the rolling vapors came confusedly a gleaming and a surging glitter of all the
loveliest colors of heaven and earth: and these took order presently, and Jurgen saw before

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him in the hour-glass that young Dorothy who was not Heitman Michael's wife. And long and
wistfully he looked at her, and the blinding tears came to his eyes for no reason at all, and for
the while he could not speak.

Then Jurgen yawned, and said, "But certainly this is not the Helen who was famed for
beauty."

"I can assure you that it is," said Anaïtis: "and that it is she who rules in Leukê, whither I do
not intend you shall go."

"Why, but, my darling! this is preposterous. The girl is nothing to look at twice, one way or
the other. She is not actually ugly, I suppose, if one happens to admire that washed-out blonde
type, as of course some people do. But to call her beautiful is out of reason; and that I must
protest in simple justice."

"Do you really think so?" says Anaïtis, brightening.

"I most assuredly do. Why, you remember what Calpurnius Bassus says about all blondes?"

"No, I believe not. What did he say, dear?"

"I would only spoil the splendid passage by quoting it inaccurately from memory. But he was
quite right, and his opinion is mine in every particular. So if that is the best Leukê can offer, I
heartily agree with you I had best go into some other country."

"I suppose you already have your eyes upon some minx or other?"

"Well, my love, those girls in the Hesperides were strikingly like you, with even more
wonderful hair than yours: and the girl Aillê whom we saw in Tir-nam-Beo likewise
resembled you remarkably, except that I thought she had the better figure. So I believe in
either of those countries I could be content enough, after a while. Since part from you I must,"
said Jurgen, tenderly, "I intend, in common fairness to myself, to find a companion as like you
as possible. You conceive I can pretend it is you at first: and then as I grow fonder of her for
her own sake, you will gradually be put out of my mind without my incurring any intolerable
anguish."

Anaïtis was not pleased. "So you are already hankering after those huzzies! And you think
them better looking than I am! And you tell me so to my face!"

"My darling, you cannot deny we have been married all of three whole months: and nobody
can maintain an infatuation for any woman that long, in the teeth of having nothing refused
him. Infatuation is largely a matter of curiosity, and both of these emotions die when they are
fed."

"Jurgen," said Anaïtis, with conviction, "you are lying to me about something. I can see it in
your eyes."

"There is no deceiving a woman's intuition. Yes, I was not speaking quite honestly when I
pretended I had as lief go into the Hesperides as to Tir-nam-Beo: it was wrong of me, and I
ask your pardon. I thought that by affecting indifference I could manage you better. But you

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saw through me at once, and very rightly became angry. So I fling my cards upon the table, I
no longer beat about the bushes of equivocation. It is Aillê, the daughter of Cormac, whom I
love, and who can blame me? Did you ever in your life behold a more enticing figure,
Anaïtis?—certainly I never did. Besides, I noticed—but never mind about that! Still I could
not help seeing them. And then such eyes! twin beacons that light my way to comfort for my
not inconsiderable regret at losing you, my darling. Oh, yes, assuredly it is to Tir-nam-Beo I
elect to go."

"Whither you go, my fine fellow, is a matter in which I have the choice, not you. And you are
going to Leukê."

"My love, now do be reasonable! We both agreed that Leukê was not a bit suitable. Why,
were there nothing else, in Leukê there are no attractive women."

"Have you no sense except book-sense! It is for that reason I am sending you to Leukê."

And thus speaking, Anaïtis set about a strong magic that hastened the coming of the Equinox.
In the midst of her charming she wept a little, for she was fond of Jurgen.

And Jurgen preserved a hurt and angry face as well as he could: for at the sight of Queen
Helen, who was so like young Dorothy la Désirée, he had ceased to care for Queen Anaïtis
and her diverting ways, or to care for aught else in the world save only Queen Helen, the
delight of gods and men. But Jurgen had learned that Anaïtis required management.

"For her own good," as he put it, "and in simple justice to the many admirable qualities which
she possesses."

27.

Vexatious Estate of Queen Helen

"But how can I travel with the Equinox, with a fictitious thing, with a mere convention?"
Jurgen had said. "To demand any such proceeding of me is preposterous."

"Is it any more preposterous than to travel with an imaginary creature like a centaur?" they
had retorted. "Why, Prince Jurgen, we wonder how you, who have done that perfectly
unheard-of thing, can have the effrontery to call anything else preposterous! Is there no reason
at all in you? Why, conventions are respectable, and that is a deal more than can be said for a
great many centaurs. Would you be throwing stones at respectability, Prince Jurgen? Why, we
are unutterably astounded at your objection to any such well-known phenomenon as the
Equinox!" And so on, and so on, and so on, said they.

And in fine, they kept at him until Jurgen was too confused to argue, and his head was in a
whirl, and one thing seemed as preposterous as another: and he ceased to notice any especial
improbability in his traveling with the Equinox, and so passed without any further protest or
argument about it, from Cocaigne to Leukê. But he would not have been thus readily flustered
had Jurgen not been thinking all the while of Queen Helen and of the beauty that was hers.

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So he inquired forthwith the way that one might quickliest come into the presence of Queen
Helen.

"Why, you will find Queen Helen," he was told, "in her palace at Pseudopolis." His informant
was a hamadryad, whom Jurgen encountered upon the outskirts of a forest overlooking the
city from the west. Beyond broad sloping stretches of ripe corn, you saw Pseudopolis as a city
builded of gold and ivory, now all a dazzling glitter under a hard-seeming sky that appeared
unusually remote from earth.

"And is the Queen as fair as people report?" asks Jurgen.

"Men say that she excels all other women," replied the Hamadryad, "as immeasurably as all
we women perceive her husband to surpass all other men—"

"But, oh, dear me!" says Jurgen.

"—Although, for one, I see nothing remarkable in Queen Helen's looks. And I cannot but
think that a woman who has been so much talked about ought to be more careful in the way
she dresses."

"So this Queen Helen is already provided with a husband!" Jurgen was displeased, but saw no
reason for despair. Then Jurgen inquired as to the Queen's husband, and learned that Achilles,
the son of Peleus, was now wedded to Helen, the Swan's daughter, and that these two ruled in
Pseudopolis.

"For they report," said the Hamadryad, "that in Adês' dreary kingdom Achilles remembered
her beauty, and by this memory was heartened to break the bonds of Adês: so did Achilles,
King of Men, and all his ancient comrades come forth resistlessly upon a second quest of this
Helen, whom people call—and as I think, with considerable exaggeration—the wonder of this
world. Then the Gods fulfilled the desire of Achilles, because, they said, the man who has
once beheld Queen Helen will never any more regain contentment so long as his life lacks this
wonder of the world. Personally, I would dislike to think that all men are so foolish."

"Men are not always rational, I grant you: but then," says Jurgen, slyly, "so many of their
ancestresses are feminine."

"But an ancestress is always feminine. Nobody ever heard of a man being an ancestress. Men
are ancestors. Why, whatever are you talking about?"

"Well, we were speaking, I believe, of Queen Helen's marriage."

"To be sure we were! And I was telling you about the Gods, when you made that droll
mistake about ancestors. Everybody makes mistakes sometimes, however, and foreigners are
always apt to get words confused. I could see at once you were a foreigner—"

"Yes," said Jurgen, "but you were not telling me about myself but about the Gods."

"Why, you must know the aging Gods desired tranquillity. So we will give her to Achilles,
they said; and then, it may be, this King of Men will retain her so safely that his littler fellows
will despair, and will cease to war for Helen: and so we shall not be bothered any longer by

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their wars and other foolishnesses. For this reason it was that the Gods gave Helen to
Achilles, and sent the pair to reign in Leukê: though, for my part," concluded the Hamadryad,
"I shall never cease to wonder what he saw in her—no, not if I live to be a thousand."

"I must," says Jurgen, "observe this monarch Achilles before the world is a day older. A king
is all very well, of course, but no husband wears a crown so as to prevent the affixion of other
head-gear."

And Jurgen went down into Pseudopolis, swaggering.

*****

So in the evening, just after sunset, Jurgen returned to the

Hamadryad: he walked now with the aid of the ashen staff which
Thersitês had given Jurgen, and Jurgen was mirthless and rather
humble.

"I have observed your King Achilles," Jurgen says, "and he is a better man than I. Queen
Helen, as I confess with regret, is worthily mated."

"And what have you to say about her?" inquires the Hamadryad.

"Why, there is nothing more to say than that she is worthily mated, and fit to be the wife of
Achilles." For once, poor Jurgen was really miserable. "For I admire this man Achilles, I envy
him, and I fear him," says Jurgen: "and it is not fair that he should have been created my
superior."

"But is not Queen Helen the loveliest of ladies that you have ever seen?"

"As to that—!" says Jurgen. He led the Hamadryad to a forest pool hard-by the oak-tree in
which she resided. The dusky water lay unruffled, a natural mirror. "Look!" said Jurgen, and
he spoke with a downward waving of his staff.

The silence gathering in the woods was wonderful. Here the air was sweet and pure: and the
little wind which went about the ilex boughs in search of night was a tender and peaceful
wind, because it knew that the all-healing night was close at hand.

The Hamadryad replied, "But I see only my own face."

"It is the answer to your question, none the less. Now do you tell me your name, my dear, so
that I may know who in reality is the loveliest of all the ladies I have ever seen."

The Hamadryad told him that her name was Chloris, and that she always looked a fright with
her hair arranged as it was to-day, and that he was a strangely impudent fellow. So he in turn
confessed to her he was King Jurgen of Eubonia, drawn from his remote kingdom by
exaggerated reports as to the beauty of Queen Helen. Chloris agreed with him that rumor was
in such matters invariably untrustworthy.

This led to further talk as twilight deepened: and the while that a little by a little this pretty
girl was converted into a warm breathing shadow, hardly visible to the eye, the shadow of

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Jurgen departed from him, and he began to talk better and better. He had seen Queen Helen
face to face, and other women now seemed unimportant. Whether or not he got into the graces
of this Hamadryad did not greatly matter, one way or the other: and in consequence Jurgen
talked with such fluency, such apposite remarks and such tenderness as astounded him.

So he sat listening with delight to the seductive tongue of that monstrous clever fellow,
Jurgen. For this plump brown-haired bright-eyed little creature, this Chloris, he was honestly
sorry. Into the uneventful life of a hamadryad, here in this uncultured forest, could not
possibly have entered much pleasurable excitement, and it seemed only right to inject a little.
"Why, simply in justice to her!" Jurgen reflected. "I must deal fairly."

Now it grew darker and darker under the trees, and in the dark nobody can see what happens.
There were only two voices that talked, with lengthy pauses: and they spoke gravely of
unimportant trifles, like children at play together.

"And how does a king come thus to be traveling without any retinue or even a sword about
him?"

"Why, I travel with a staff, my dear, as you perceive: and it suffices me."

"Certainly it is large enough, in all conscience. Alas, young outlander, who call yourself a
king! you carry the bludgeon of a highwayman, and I am afraid of it."

"My staff is a twig from Yggdrasill, the tree of universal life: Thersitês gave it me, and the sap
that throbs therein arises from the Undar fountain, where the grave Norns make laws for men
and fix their destinies."

"Thersitês is a scoffer, and his gifts are mockery. I would have none of them."

The two began to wrangle, not at all angrily, as to what Jurgen had best do with his prized
staff. "Do you take it away from me, at any rate!" says Chloris. So Jurgen hid his staff where
Chloris could not possibly see it; and he drew the Hamadryad close to him, and he laughed
contentedly.

"Oh, oh! O wretched King," cried Chloris, "I fear that you will be the death of me! And you
have no right to oppress me in this way, for I am not your subject."

"Rather shall you be my queen, dear Chloris, receiving all that I most prize."

"But you are too domineering: and I am afraid to be alone with you and your big staff! Ah!
not without knowing what she talked about did my mother use to quote her Æolic saying, The
king is cruel and takes joy in bloodshed!"

"Presently you will not be afraid of me, nor will you be afraid of my staff. Custom is all. For
this likewise is an Æolic saying, The taste of the first olive is unpleasant, but the second is
good."

Now for a while was silence save for the small secretive rumors of the forest. One of the large
green locusts which frequent the Island of Leukê began shrilling tentatively.

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"Wait now, King Jurgen, for surely I hear footsteps, and one comes to trouble us."

"It is a wind in the tree-tops: or perhaps it is a god who envies me. I pause for neither."

"Ah, but speak reverently of the Gods! For is not Love a god, and a jealous god that has wings
with which to leave us?"

"Then am I a god, for in my heart is love, and in every fibre of me is love, and from me now
love emanates."

"But certainly I heard somebody approaching through the forest—"

"Well, and do you not perceive I have withdrawn my staff from its hiding-place?"

"Ah, you have great faith in that staff of yours!"

"I fear nobody when I brandish it."

Another locust had answered the first one. Now the two insects were in full dispute, suffusing
the warm darkness with their pertinacious whirrings.

"King of Eubonia, it is certainly true, that which you told me about olives."

"Yes, for always love begets truthfulness."

"I pray it may beget between us utter truthfulness, and nothing else, King Jurgen."

"Not 'Jurgen' now, but 'love'."

"Indeed, they tell that even so, in such deep darkness, Love came to his sweetheart Psychê."

"Then why do you complain because I piously emulate the Gods, and offer unto Love the
sincerest form of flattery?" And Jurgen shook his staff at her.

"Ah, but you are strangely ready with your flattery! and Love threatened Psychê with no such
enormous staff."

"That is possible: for I am Jurgen. And I deal fairly with all women, and raise my staff against
none save in the way of kindness."

So they talked nonsense, in utter darkness, while the locusts, and presently a score of locusts,
disputed obstinately. Now Chloris and Jurgen were invisible, even to each other, as they
talked under her oak-tree: but before them the fields shone mistily under a gold-dusted dome,
for this night seemed builded of stars. And the white towers of Pseudopolis also could Jurgen
see, as he laughed there and took his pleasure with Chloris. He reflected that very probably
Achilles and Helen were laughing thus, and were not dissimilarly occupied, out yonder, in this
night of wonder.

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He sighed. But in a while Jurgen and the Hamadryad were speaking again, just as
inconsequently, and the locusts were whirring just as obstinately. Later the moon rose, and
they all slept.

With the dawn Jurgen arose, and left this Hamadryad Chloris still asleep. He stood where he
overlooked the city and the shirt of Nessus glittered in the level sun rays: and Jurgen thought
of Queen Helen. Then he sighed, and went back to Chloris and wakened her with the sort of
salutation that appeared her just due.

28.

Of Compromises in Leukê

Now the tale tells that ten days later Jurgen and his Hamadryad were duly married, in
consonance with the law of the Wood: not for a moment did Chloris consider any violation of
the proprieties, so they were married the first evening she could assemble her kindred.

"Still, Chloris, I already have two wives," says Jurgen, "and it is but fair to confess it."

"I thought it was only yesterday you arrived in Leukê."

"That is true: for I came with the Equinox, over the long sea."

"Then Jugatinus has not had time to marry you to anybody, and certainly he would never
think of marrying you to two wives. Why do you talk such nonsense?"

"No, it is true, I was not married by Jugatinus."

"So there!" says Chloris, as if that settled matters. "Now you see for yourself."

"Why, yes, to be sure," says Jurgen, "that does put rather a different light upon it, now I think
of it."

"It makes all the difference in the world."

"I would hardly go that far. Still, I perceive it makes a difference."

"Why, you talk as if everybody did not know that Jugatinus marries people!"

"No, dear, let us be fair! I did not say precisely that."

"—And as if everybody was not always married by Jugatinus!"

"Yes, here in Leukê, perhaps. But outside of Leukê, you understand, my darling!"

"But nobody goes outside of Leukê. Nobody ever thinks of leaving

Leukê. I never heard such nonsense."

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"You mean, nobody ever leaves this island?"

"Nobody that you ever hear of. Of course, there are Lares and Penates, with no social
position, that the kings of Pseudopolis sometimes take a-voyaging—"

"Still, the people of other countries do get married."

"No, Jurgen," said Chloris, sadly, "it is a rule with Jugatinus never to leave the island; and
indeed I am sure he has never even considered such unheard-of conduct: so, of course, the
people of other countries are not able to get married."

"Well, but, Chloris, in Eubonia—"

"Now if you do not mind, dear, I think we had better talk about something more pleasant. I do
not blame you men of Eubonia, because all men are in such matters perfectly irresponsible.
And perhaps it is not altogether the fault of the women, either, though I do think any really
self-respecting woman would have the strength of character to keep out of such irregular
relations, and that much I am compelled to say. So do not let us talk any more about these
persons whom you describe as your wives. It is very nice of you, dear, to call them that, and I
appreciate your delicacy. Still, I really do believe we had better talk about something else."

Jurgen deliberated. "Yet do you not think, Chloris, that in the absence of Jugatinus—and in,
as I understand it, the unavoidable absence of Jugatinus,—somebody else might perform the
ceremony?"

"Oh, yes, if they wanted to. But it would not count. Nobody but Jugatinus can really marry
people. And so of course nobody else does."

"What makes you sure of that?"

"Why, because," said Chloris, triumphantly, "nobody ever heard of such a thing."

"You have voiced," said Jurgen, "an entire code of philosophy. Let us by all means go to
Jugatinus and be married."

So they were married by Jugatinus, according to the ceremony with which the People of the
Wood were always married by Jugatinus. First Virgo loosed the girdle of Chloris in such
fashion as was customary; and Chloris, after sitting much longer than Jurgen liked in the lap
of Mutinus (who was in the state that custom required of him) was led back to Jurgen by
Domiducus in accordance with immemorial custom; Subigo did her customary part; then
Praema grasped the bride's plump arms: and everything was perfectly regular.

Thereafter Jurgen disposed of his staff in the way Thersitês had directed: and thereafter
Jurgen abode with Chloris upon the outskirts of the forest, and complied with the customs of
Leukê. Her tree was a rather large oak, for Chloris was now in her two hundred and sixty-
sixth year; and at first its commodious trunk sheltered them. But later Jurgen builded himself
a little cabin thatched with birds' wings, and made himself more comfortable.

"It is well enough for you, my dear, in fact it is expected of you, to live in a tree-bole. But it
makes me feel uncomfortably like a worm, and it needlessly emphasizes the restrictions of

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married life. Besides, you do not want me under your feet all the time, nor I you. No, let us
cultivate a judicious abstention from familiarity: such is one secret of an enduring, because
endurable, marriage. But why is it, pray, that you have never married before, in all these
years?"

She told him. At first Jurgen could not believe her, but presently
Jurgen was convinced, through at least two of his senses, that what
Chloris told him was true about hamadryads.

"Otherwise, you are not markedly unlike the women of Eubonia," said
Jurgen.

And now Jurgen met many of the People of the Wood; but since the tree of Chloris stood
upon the verge of the forest, he saw far more of the People of the Field, who dwelt between
the forest and the city of Pseudopolis. These were the neighbors and the ordinary associates of
Chloris and Jurgen; though once in a while, of course, there would be family gatherings in the
forest. But Jurgen presently had found good reason to distrust the People of the Wood, and
went to none of these gatherings.

"For in Eubonia," he said, "we are taught that your wife's relatives will never find fault with
you to your face so long as you keep away from them. And more than that, no sensible man
expects."

Meanwhile, King Jurgen was perplexed by the People of the Field, who were his neighbors.
They one and all did what they had always done. Thus Runcina saw to it that the Fields were
weeded: Seia took care of the seed while it was buried in the earth: Nodosa arranged the knots
and joints of the stalk: Volusia folded the blade around the corn: each had an immemorial
duty. And there was hardly a day that somebody was not busied in the Fields, whether it was
Occator harrowing, or Sator and Sarritor about their sowing and raking, or Stercutius
manuring the ground: and Hippona was always bustling about in one place or another looking
after the horses, or else Bubona would be there attending to the cattle. There was never any
restfulness in the Fields.

"And why do you do these things year in and year out?" asked Jurgen.

"Why, King of Eubonia, we have always done these things," they said, in high astonishment.

"Yes, but why not stop occasionally?"

"Because in that event the work would stop. The corn would die, the cattle would perish, and
the Fields would become jungles."

"But, as I understand it, this is not your corn, nor your cattle, nor your Fields. You derive no
good from them. And there is nothing to prevent your ceasing this interminable labor, and
living as do the People of the Wood, who perform no heavy work whatever."

"I should think not!" said Aristæus, and his teeth flashed in a smile that was very pleasant to
see, as he strained at the olive-press. "Whoever heard of the People of the Wood doing
anything useful!"

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"Yes, but," says Jurgen, patiently, "do you think it is quite fair to yourselves to be always
about some tedious and difficult labor when nobody compels you to do it? Why do you not
sometimes take holiday?"

"King Jurgen," replied Fornax, looking up from the little furnace wherein she was parching
corn, "you are talking nonsense. The People of the Field have never taken holiday. Nobody
ever heard of such a thing."

"We should think not indeed!" said all the others, sagely.

"Ah, ah!" said Jurgen, "so that is your demolishing reason. Well, I shall inquire about this
matter among the People of the Wood, for they may be more sensible."

Then as Jurgen was about to enter the forest, he encountered Terminus, perfumed with
ointment, and crowned with a garland of roses, and standing stock still.

"Aha," said Jurgen, "so here is one of the People of the Wood about to go down into the
Fields. But if I were you, my friend, I would keep away from any such foolish place."

"I never go down into the Fields," said Terminus.

"Oh, then, you are returning into the forest."

"But certainly not. Whoever heard of my going into the forest!"

"Indeed, now I look at you, you are merely standing here."

"I have always stood here," said Terminus.

"And do you never move?"

"No," said Terminus.

"And for what reason?"

"Because I have always stood here without moving," replied Terminus.

"Why, for me to move would be a quite unheard-of thing."

So Jurgen left him, and went into the forest. And there Jurgen encountered a smiling young
fellow, who rode upon the back of a large ram. This young man had his left fore-finger laid to
his lips, and his right hand held an astonishing object to be thus publicly displayed.

"But, oh, dear me! now, really, sir—!" says Jurgen.

"Bah!" says the ram.

But the smiling young fellow said nothing at all as he passed

Jurgen, because it is not the custom of Harpocrates to speak.

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"Which would be well enough," reflected Jurgen, "if only his custom did not make for
stiffness and the embarrassment of others."

Thereafter Jurgen came upon a considerable commotion in the bushes, where a satyr was at
play with an oread.

"Oh, but this forest is not respectable!" said Jurgen. "Have you no ethics and morals, you
People of the Wood! Have you no sense of responsibility whatever, thus to be frolicking on a
working-day?"

"Why, no," responded the Satyr, "of course not. None of my people have such things: and so
the natural vocation of all satyrs is that which you are now interrupting."

"Perhaps you speak the truth," said Jurgen. "Still, you ought to be ashamed of the fact that you
are not lying."

"For a satyr to be ashamed of himself would be indeed an unheard-of thing! Now go away,
you in the glittering shirt! for we are studying eudæmonism, and you are talking nonsense,
and I am busy, and you annoy me," said the Satyr.

"Well, but in Cocaigne," said Jurgen, "this eudæmonism was considered an indoor diversion."

"And did you ever hear of a satyr going indoors?"

"Why, save us from all hurt and harm! but what has that to do with it?"

"Do not try to equivocate, you shining idiot! For now you see for yourself you are talking
nonsense. And I repeat that such unheard-of nonsense irritates me," said the Satyr.

The Oread said nothing at all. But she too looked annoyed, and Jurgen reflected that it was
probably not the custom of oreads to be rescued from the eudæmonism of satyrs.

So Jurgen left them; and yet deeper in the forest he found a bald-headed squat old man, with a
big paunch and a flat red nose and very small bleared eyes. Now the old fellow was so
helplessly drunk that he could not walk: instead, he sat upon the ground, and leaned against a
tree-bole.

"This is a very disgusting state for you to be in so early in the morning," observed Jurgen.

"But Silenus is always drunk," the bald-headed man responded, with a dignified hiccough.

"So here is another one of you! Well, and why are you always drunk,
Silenus?"

"Because Silenus is the wisest of the People of the Wood."

"Ah, ah! but I apologize. For here at last is somebody with a plausible excuse for his daily
employment. Now, then, Silenus, since you are so wise, come tell me, is it really the best fate
for a man to be drunk always?"

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"Not at all. Drunkenness is a joy reserved for the Gods: so do men partake of it impiously, and
so are they very properly punished for their audacity. For men, it is best of all never to be
born; but, being born, to die very quickly."

"Ah, yes! but failing either?"

"The third best thing for a man is to do that which seems expected of him," replied Silenus.

"But that is the Law of Philistia: and with Philistia, they inform me, Pseudopolis is at war."

Silenus meditated. Jurgen had discovered an uncomfortable thing about this old fellow, and it
was that his small bleared eyes did not blink nor the lids twitch at all. His eyes moved, as
through magic the eyes of a painted statue might move horribly, under quite motionless red
lids. Therefore it was uncomfortable when these eyes moved toward you.

"Young fellow in the glittering shirt, I will tell you a secret: and it is that the Philistines were
created after the image of Koshchei who made some things as they are. Do you think upon
that! So the Philistines do that which seems expected. And the people of Leukê were created
after the image of Koshchei who made yet other things as they are: therefore do the people of
Leukê do that which is customary, adhering to classical tradition. Do you think upon that also!
Then do you pick your side in this war, remembering that you side with stupidity either way.
And when that happens which will happen, do you remember how Silenus foretold to you
precisely what would happen, a long while before it happened, because Silenus was so old
and so wise and so very disreputably drunk, and so very, very sleepy."

"Yes, certainly, Silenus: but how will this war end?"

"Dullness will conquer dullness: and it will not matter."

"Ah, yes! but what will become, in all this fighting, of Jurgen?"

"That will not matter either," said Silenus, comfortably. "Nobody will bother about you." And
with that he closed his horrible bleared eyes and went to sleep.

So Jurgen left the old tippler, and started to leave the forest also. "For undoubtedly all the
people in Leukê are resolute to do that which is customary," reflected Jurgen, "for the
unarguable reason it is their custom, and has always been their custom. And they will desist
from these practises when the cat eats acorns, but not before. So it is the part of wisdom to
inquire no further into the matter. For after all, these people may be right; and certainly I
cannot go so far as to say they are wrong." Jurgen shrugged. "But still, at the same time—!"

Now in returning to his cabin Jurgen heard a frightful sort of yowling and screeching as of
mad people.

"Hail, daughter of various-formed Protogonus, thou that takest joy in mountains and battles
and in the beating of the drum! Hail, thou deceitful saviour, mother of all gods, that comest
now, pleased with long wanderings, to be propitious to us!"

But the uproar was becoming so increasingly unpleasant that Jurgen at this point withdrew
into a thicket: and thence he witnessed the passing through the Woods of a notable

110
procession. There were features connected with this procession sufficiently unusual to cause
Jurgen to vow that the desiderated moment wherein he walked unhurt from the forest would
mark the termination of his last visit thereto. Then amazement tripped up the heels of terror:
for now passed Mother Sereda, or, as Anaïtis had called her, Æsred. To-day, in place of a
towel about her head, she wore a species of crown, shaped like a circlet of crumbling towers:
she carried a large key, and her chariot was drawn by two lions. She was attended by howling
persons, with shaved heads: and it was apparent that these persons had parted with
possessions which Jurgen valued.

"This is undoubtedly," said he, "a most unwholesome forest."

Jurgen inquired about this procession, later, and from Chloris he got information which
surprised him.

"And these are the beings who I had thought were poetic ornaments of speech! But what is the
old lady doing in such high company?"

He described Mother Sereda, and Chloris told him who this was. Now
Jurgen shook his sleek black head.

"Behold another mystery! Yet after all, it is no concern of mine if the old lady elects for an
additional anagram. I should be the last person to criticize her, inasmuch as to me she has
been more than generous. Well, I shall preserve her friendship by the infallible recipe of
keeping out of her way. Oh, but I shall certainly keep out of her way now that I have
perceived what is done to the men who serve her."

And after that Jurgen and Chloris lived very pleasantly together, though Jurgen began to find
his Hamadryad a trifle unperceptive, if not actually obtuse.

"She does not understand me, and she does not always treat my superior wisdom quite
respectfully. That is unfair, but it seems to be an unavoidable feature of married life. Besides,
if any woman had ever understood me she would, in self-protection, have refused to marry
me. In any case, Chloris is a dear brown plump delicious partridge of a darling: and
cleverness in women is, after all, a virtue misplaced."

And Jurgen did not return into the Woods, nor did he go down into the city. Neither the
People of the Field nor of the Wood, of course, ever went within city gates. "But I would
think that you would like to see the fine sights of Pseudopolis," says Chloris,—"and that fine
Queen of theirs," she added, almost as though she spoke without premeditation.

"Woman dear," says Jurgen, "I do not wish to appear boastful. But in Eubonia, now! well,
really some day we must return to my kingdom, and you shall inspect for yourself a dozen or
two of my cities—Ziph and Eglington and Poissieux and Gazden and Bäremburg, at all
events. And then you will concede with me that this little village of Pseudopolis, while well
enough in its way—!" And Jurgen shrugged. "But as for saying more!"

"Sometimes," said Chloris, "I wonder if there is any such place as your fine kingdom of
Eubonia: for certainly it grows larger and more splendid every time you talk of it."

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"Now can it be," asks Jurgen, more hurt than angry, "that you suspect me of uncandid dealing
and, in short, of being an impostor!"

"Why, what does it matter? You are Jurgen," she answered, happily.

And the man was moved as she smiled at him across the glowing queer embroidery-work at
which Chloris seemed to labor interminably: he was conscious of a tenderness for her which
was oddly remorseful: and it appeared to him that if he had known lovelier women he had
certainly found nowhere anyone more lovable than was this plump and busy and sunny-
tempered little wife of his.

"My dear, I do not care to see Queen Helen again, and that is a fact. I am contented here, with
a wife befitting my station, suited to my endowments, and infinitely excelling my deserts."

"And do you think of that tow-headed bean-pole very often, King

Jurgen?"

"That is unfair, and you wrong me, Chloris, with these unmerited suspicions. It pains me to
reflect, my dear, that you esteem the tie between us so lightly you can consider me capable of
breaking it even in thought."

"To talk of fairness is all very well, but it is no answer to a plain question."

Jurgen looked full at her; and he laughed. "You women are so unscrupulously practical. My
dear, I have seen Queen Helen face to face. But it is you whom I love as a man customarily
loves a woman."

"That is not saying much."

"No: for I endeavor to speak in consonance with my importance. You forget that I have also
seen Achilles."

"But you admired Achilles! You told me so yourself."

"I admired the perfections of Achilles, but I cordially dislike the man who possesses them.
Therefore I shall keep away from both the King and Queen of Pseudopolis."

"Yet you will not go into the Woods, either, Jurgen—"

"Not after what I have witnessed there," said Jurgen, with an exaggerated shudder that was
not very much exaggerated.

Now Chloris laughed, and quitted her queer embroidery in order to rumple up his hair. "And
you find the People of the Field so insufferably stupid, and so uninterested by your
Zorobasiuses and Ptolemopiters and so on, that you keep away from them also. O foolish man
of mine, you are determined to be neither fish nor beast nor poultry and nowhere will you
ever consent to be happy."

112
"It was not I who determined my nature, Chloris: and as for being happy, I make no
complaint. Indeed, I have nothing to complain of, nowadays. So I am very well contented by
my dear wife and by my manner of living in Leukê," said Jurgen, with a sigh.

29.

Concerning Horvendile's Nonsense

It was on a bright and tranquil day in November, at the period which the People of the Field
called the summer of Alcyonê, that Jurgen went down from the forest; and after skirting the
moats of Pseudopolis, and avoiding a meeting with any of the town's dispiritingly glorious
inhabitants, Jurgen came to the seashore.

Chloris had suggested his doing this, in order that she could have a chance to straighten things
in his cabin while she was tidying her tree for the winter, and could so make one day's work
serve for two. For the dryad of an oak-tree has large responsibilities, what with the care of so
many dead leaves all winter, and the acorns being blown from their places and littering up the
ground everywhere, and the bark cracking until it looks positively disreputable: and Jurgen
was at any such work less a help than a hindrance. So Chloris gave him a parcel of lunch and
a perfunctory kiss, and told him to go down to the seashore and get inspired and make up a
pretty poem about her. "And do you be back in time for an early supper, Jurgen," says she,
"but not a minute before."

Thus it befell that Jurgen reflectively ate his lunch in solitude, and regarded the Euxine. The
sun was high, and the queer shadow that followed Jurgen was huddled into shapelessness.

"This is indeed an inspiring spectacle," Jurgen reflected. "How puny seems the race of man, in
contrast with this mighty sea, which now spreads before me like, as So-and-so has very
strikingly observed, a something or other under such and such conditions!" Then Jurgen
shrugged. "Really, now I think of it, though, there is no call for me to be suffused with the
traditional emotions. It looks like a great deal of water, and like nothing else in particular.
And I cannot but consider the water is behaving rather futilely."

So he sat in drowsy contemplation of the sea. Far out a shadow would form on the water, like
the shadow of a broadish plank, scudding shoreward, and lengthening and darkening as it
approached. Presently it would be some hundred feet in length, and would assume a hard
smooth darkness, like that of green stone: this was the under side of the wave. Then the top of
it would curdle, the southern end of the wave would collapse, and with exceeding swiftness
this white feathery falling would plunge and scamper and bluster northward, the full length of
the wave. It would be neater and more workmanlike to have each wave tumble down as a
whole. From the smacking and the splashing, what looked like boiling milk would thrust out
over the brown sleek sands: and as the mess spread it would thin to a reticulated whiteness,
like lace, and then to the appearance of smoke sprays clinging to the sands. Plainly the tide
was coming in.

Or perhaps it was going out. Jurgen's notions as to such phenomena were vague. But, either
way, the sea was stirring up a large commotion and a rather pleasant and invigorating odor.

113
And then all this would happen once more: and then it would happen yet again. It had
happened a number of hundred of times since Jurgen first sat down to eat his lunch: and what
was gained by it? The sea was behaving stupidly. There was no sense in this continual
sloshing and spanking and scrabbling and spluttering.

Thus Jurgen, as he nodded over the remnants of his lunch.

"Sheer waste of energy, I am compelled to call it," said Jurgen, aloud, just as he noticed there
were two other men on this long beach.

One came from the north, one from the south, so that they met not far from where Jurgen was
sitting: and by an incredible coincidence Jurgen had known both of these men in his first
youth. So he hailed them, and they recognized him at once. One of these travellers was the
Horvendile who had been secretary to Count Emmerick when Jurgen was a lad: and the other
was Perion de la Forêt, that outlaw who had come to Bellegarde very long ago disguised as
the Vicomte de Puysange. And all three of these old acquaintances had kept their youth
surprisingly.

Now Horvendile and Perion marveled at the fine shirt which Jurgen was wearing.

"Why, you must know," he said, modestly, "that I have lately become
King of Eubonia, and must dress according to my station."

So they said they had always expected some such high honor to befall him, and then the three
of them fell to talking. And Perion told how he had come through Pseudopolis, on his way to
King Theodoret at Lacre Kai, and how in the market-place at Pseudopolis he had seen Queen
Helen. "She is a very lovely lady," said Perion, "and I marvelled over her resemblance to
Count Emmerick's fair sister, whom we all remember."

"I noticed that at once," said Horvendile, and he smiled strangely, "when I, too, passed
through the city."

"Why, but nobody could fail to notice it," said Jurgen.

"It is not, of course, that I consider her to be as lovely as Dame Melicent," continued Perion,
"since, as I have contended in all quarters of the world, there has never lived, and will never
live, any woman so beautiful as Melicent. But you gentlemen appear surprised by what seems
to me a very simple statement. Your air, in fine, is one that forces me to point out it is a
statement I can permit nobody to deny." And Perion's honest eyes had narrowed unpleasantly,
and his sun-browned countenance was uncomfortably stern.

"Dear sir," said Jurgen, hastily, "it was merely that it appeared to me the lady whom they call
Queen Helen hereabouts is quite evidently Count Emmerick's sister Dorothy la Désirée."

"Whereas I recognized her at once," says Horvendile, "as Count

Emmerick's third sister, La Beale Ettarre."

And now they stared at one another, for it was certain that these three sisters were not
particularly alike.

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"Putting aside any question of eyesight," observes Perion, "it is indisputable that the language
of both of you is distorted. For one of you says this is Madame Dorothy, and the other says
this is Madame Ettarre: whereas everybody knows that this Queen Helen, whomever she may
resemble, cannot possibly be anybody else save Queen Helen."

"To you, who are always the same person," replied Jurgen, "that may sound reasonable. For
my part, I am several people: and I detect no incongruity in other persons' resembling me."

"There would be no incongruity anywhere," suggested Horvendile, "if Queen Helen were the
woman whom we had loved in vain. For the woman whom when we were young we loved in
vain is the one woman that we can never see quite clearly, whatever happens. So we might
easily, I suppose, confuse her with some other woman."

"But Melicent is the lady whom I have loved in vain," said Perion, "and I care nothing
whatever about Queen Helen. Why should I? What do you mean now, Horvendile, by your
hints that I have faltered in my constancy to Dame Melicent since I saw Queen Helen? I do
not like such hints."

"No less, it is Ettarre whom I love, and have loved not quite in vain, and have loved
unfalteringly," says Horvendile, with his quiet smile: "and I am certain that it was Ettarre
whom I beheld when I looked upon Queen Helen."

"I may confess," says Jurgen, clearing his throat, "that I have
always regarded Madame Dorothy with peculiar respect and admiration.
For the rest, I am married. Even so, I think that Madame Dorothy is
Queen Helen."

Then they fell to debating this mystery. And presently Perion said the one way out was to
leave the matter to Queen Helen. "She at all events must know who she is. So do one of you
go back into the city, and embrace her knees as is the custom of this country when one
implores a favor of the King or the Queen: and do you then ask her fairly."

"Not I," says Jurgen. "I am upon terms of some intimacy with a hamadryad just at present. I
am content with my Hamadryad. And I intend never to venture into the presence of Queen
Helen any more, in order to preserve my contentment."

"Why, but I cannot go," says Perion, "because Dame Melicent has a little mole upon her left
cheek. And Queen Helen's cheek is flawless. You understand, of course, that I am certain this
mole immeasurably enhances the beauty of Dame Melicent," he added, loyally. "None the
less, I mean to hold no further traffic with Queen Helen."

"Now my reason for not going is this," said Horvendile:—"that if I attempted to embrace the
knees of Ettarre, whom people hereabouts call Helen, she would instantly vanish. Other
matters apart, I do not wish to bring any such misfortune upon the Island of Leukê."

"But that," said Perion, "is nonsense."

"Of course it is," said Horvendile. "That is probably why it happens."

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So none of them would go. And each of them clung, none the less, to his own opinion about
Queen Helen. And presently Perion said they were wasting both time and words. Then Perion
bade the two farewell, and Perion continued southward, toward Lacre Kai. And as he went he
sang a song in honor of Dame Melicent, whom he celebrated as Heart o' My Heart: and the
two who heard him agreed that Perion de la Forêt was probably the worst poet in the world.

"Nevertheless, there goes a very chivalrous and worthy gentleman," said Horvendile, "intent
to play out the remainder of his romance. I wonder if the Author gets much pleasure from
these simple characters? At least they must be easy to handle."

"I cultivate a judicious amount of gallantry," says Jurgen: "I do not any longer aspire to be
chivalrous. And indeed, Horvendile, it seems to me indisputable that each one of us is the
hero in his own romance, and cannot understand any other person's romance, but
misinterprets everything therein, very much as we three have fallen out in the simple matter of
a woman's face."

Now young Horvendile meditatively stroked his own curly and reddish hair, brushing it away
from his ears with his left hand, as he sat there staring meditatively at nothing in particular.

"I would put it, Jurgen, that we three have met like characters out of three separate romances
which the Author has composed in different styles."

"That also," Jurgen submitted, "would be nonsense."

"Ah, but perhaps the Author very often perpetrates nonsense. Come Jurgen, you who are King
of Eubonia!" says Horvendile, with his wide-set eyes a-twinkle; "what is there in you or me to
attest that our Author has not composed our romances with his tongue in his cheek?"

"Messire Horvendile, if you are attempting to joke about Koshchei who made all things as
they are, I warn you I do not consider that sort of humor very wholesome. Without being
prudish, I believe in common-sense: and I would vastly prefer to have you talk about
something else."

Horvendile was still smiling. "You look some day to come to Koshchei, as you call the
Author. That is easily said, and sounds excellently. Ah, but how will you recognize Koshchei?
and how do you know you have not already passed by Koshchei in some street or meadow?
Come now, King Jurgen," said Horvendile, and still his young face wore an impish smile;
"come tell me, how do you know that I am not Koshchei who made all things as they are?"

"Be off with you!" says Jurgen; "you would never have had the wit to invent a Jurgen.
Something else is troubling me: I have just recollected that the young Perion who left us only
a moment since, grew to be rich and gray-headed and famous, and took Dame Melicent from
her pagan husband, and married her himself: and that all this happened long years ago. So our
recent talk with young Perion seems very improbable."

"Why, but do you not remember, too, that I ran away in the night when Maugis d'Aigremont
stormed Storisende? and was never heard of any more? and that all this, too, took place a
long, long while ago? Yet we have met as three fine young fellows, here on the beach of
fabulous Leukê. I put it to you fairly, King Jurgen: now how could this conceivably have
come about unless the Author sometimes composes nonsense?"

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"Truly the way that you express it, Horvendile, the thing does seem a little strange; and I can
think of no explanation rendering it plausible."

"Again, see now, King Jurgen of Eubonia, how you underrate the Author's ability. This is one
of the romancer's most venerable devices that is being practised. See for yourself!" And
suddenly Horvendile pushed Jurgen so that Jurgen tumbled over in the warm sand.

Then Jurgen arose, gaping and stretching himself. "That was a very foolish dream I had,
napping here in the sun. For it was certainly a dream. Otherwise, they would have left
footprints, these young fellows who have gone the way of youth so long ago. And it was a
dream that had no sense in it. But indeed it would be strange if that were the whole point of it,
and if living, too, were such a dream, as that queer Horvendile would have me think."

Jurgen snapped his fingers.

"Well, and what in common fairness could he or anyone else expect me to do about it! That is
the answer I fling at you, you Horvendile whom I made up in a dream. And I disown you as
the most futile of my inventions. So be off with you! and a good riddance, too, for I never
held with upsetting people."

Then Jurgen dusted himself, and trudged home to an early supper with the Hamadryad who
contented him.

30.

Economics of King Jurgen

Now Jurgen's curious dream put notions into the restless head of Jurgen. So mighty became
his curiosity that he went shuddering into the abhorred Woods, and passed over Coalisnacoan
(which is the Ferry of Dogs), and did all such detestable things as were necessary to placate
Phobetor. Then Jurgen tricked Phobetor by an indescribable device, wherein surprising use
was made of a cheese and three beetles and a gimlet, and so cheated Phobetor out of a gray
magic. And that night while Pseudopolis slept King Jurgen came down into this city of gold
and ivory.

Jurgen went with distaste among the broad-browed and great-limbed monarchs of
Pseudopolis, for they reminded him of things that he had long ago put aside, and they made
him feel unpleasantly ignoble and insignificant. That was his real reason for avoiding the city.

Now he passed between unlighted and silent palaces, walking in deserted streets where the
moon made ominous shadows. Here was the house of Ajax Telamon who reigned in sea-girt
Salamis, here that of god-like Philoctetês: much-counseling Odysseus dwelt just across the
way, and the corner residence was fair-haired Agamemnon's: in the moonlight Jurgen easily
made out these names engraved upon the bronze shield that hung beside each doorway. To
every side of him slept the heroes of old song while Jurgen skulked under their windows.

117
He remembered how incuriously—not even scornfully—these people had overlooked him on
that disastrous afternoon when he had ventured into Pseudopolis by daylight. And a spiteful
little gust of rage possessed him, and Jurgen shook his fist at the big silent palaces.

"Yah!" he snarled: for he did not know at all what it was that he desired to say to those great
stupid heroes who did not care what he said, but he knew that he hated them. Then Jurgen
became aware of himself growling there like a kicked cur who is afraid to bite, and he began
to laugh at this Jurgen.

"Your pardon, gentlemen of Greece," says he, with a wide ceremonious bow, "and I think the
information I wished to convey was that I am a monstrous clever fellow."

Jurgen went into the largest palace, and crept stealthily by the bedroom of Achilles, King of
Men, treading a-tip-toe; and so came at last into a little room panelled with cedar-wood where
slept Queen Helen. She was smiling in her sleep when he had lighted his lamp, with due
observance of the gray magic. She was infinitely beautiful, this young Dorothy whom people
hereabouts through some odd error called Helen.

For Jurgen saw very well that this was Count Emmerick's sister Dorothy la Désirée, whom
Jurgen had vainly loved in the days when Jurgen was young alike in body and heart. Just once
he had won back to her, in the garden between dawn and sunrise: but he was then a time-
battered burgher whom Dorothy did not recognise. Now he returned to her a king, less
admirable it might be than some of the many other kings without realms who slept now in
Pseudopolis, but still very fine in his borrowed youth, and above all, armored by a gray
magic: so that improbabilities were possible. And Jurgen's eyes were furtive, and he passed
his tongue across his upper lip from one corner to the other, and his hand went out toward the
robe of violet-colored wool which covered the sleeping girl, for he stood ready to awaken
Dorothy la Désirée in the way he often awoke Chloris.

But a queer thought held him. Nothing, he recollected, had shown the power to hurt him very
deeply since he had lost this young Dorothy. And to affairs which threatened to result
unpleasantly, he had always managed to impart an agreeable turn, since then, by virtue of
preserving a cool heart. What if by some misfortune he were to get back his real youth? and
were to become again the flustered boy who blundered from stammering rapture to wild
misery, and back again, at the least word or gesture of a gold-haired girl?

"Thank you, no!" says Jurgen. "The boy was more admirable than I, who am by way of being
not wholly admirable. But then he had a wretched time of it, by and large. Thus it may be that
my real youth lies sleeping here: and for no consideration would I re-awaken it."

And yet tears came into his eyes, for no reason at all. And it seemed to him that the sleeping
woman, here at his disposal, was not the young Dorothy whom he had seen in the garden
between dawn and sunrise, although the two were curiously alike; and that of the two this
woman here was, somehow, infinitely the lovelier.

"Lady, if you indeed be the Swan's daughter, long and long ago there was a child that was ill.
And his illness turned to a fever, and in his fever he arose from his bed one night, saying that
he must set out for Troy, because of his love for Queen Helen. I was once that child. I
remember how strange it seemed to me I should be talking such nonsense: I remember how
the warm room smelt of drugs: and I remember how I pitied the trouble in my nurse's face,

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drawn and old in the yellow lamplight. For she loved me, and she did not understand: and she
pleaded with me to be a good boy and not to worry my sleeping parents. But I perceive now
that I was not talking nonsense."

He paused, considering the riddle: and his fingers fretted with the robe of violet-colored wool
beneath which lay Queen Helen. "Yours is that beauty of which men know by fabulous report
alone, and which they may not ever find, nor ever win to, quite. And for that beauty I have
hungered always, even in childhood. Toward that beauty I have struggled always, but not
quite whole-heartedly. That night forecast my life. I have hungered for you: and"—Jurgen
smiled here—"and I have always stayed a passably good boy, lest I should beyond reason
disturb my family. For to do that, I thought, would not be fair: and still I believe for me to
have done that would have been unfair."

He grimaced at this point: for Jurgen was finding his scruples inconveniently numerous.

"And now I think that what I do to-night is not quite fair to Chloris. And I do not know what
thing it is that I desire, and the will of Jurgen is a feather in the wind. But I know that I would
like to love somebody as Chloris loves me, and as so many women have loved me. And I
know that it is you who have prevented this, Queen Helen, at every moment of my life since
the disastrous moment when I first seemed to find your loveliness in the face of Madame
Dorothy. It is the memory of your beauty, as I then saw it mirrored in the face of a jill-flirt,
which has enfeebled me for such honest love as other men give women: and I envy these
other men. For Jurgen has loved nothing—not even you, not even Jurgen!—quite whole-
heartedly. Well, what if I took vengeance now upon this thieving comeliness, upon this robber
that strips life of joy and sorrow?"

Jurgen stood at Queen Helen's bedside, watching her, for a long while. He had shifted into a
less fanciful mood: and the shadow that followed him was ugly and hulking and wavering
upon the cedarn wall of Queen Helen's sleeping-chamber.

"Mine is a magic which does not fail," old Phobetor had said, while his attendants raised his
eyelids so that he could see King Jurgen.

Now Jurgen remembered this. And reflectively he drew back the robe of violet-colored wool,
a little way. The breast of Queen Helen lay bare. And she did not move at all, but she smiled
in her sleep.

Never had Jurgen imagined that any woman could be so beautiful nor so desirable as this
woman, or that he could ever know such rapture. So Jurgen paused.

"Because," said Jurgen now, "it may be this woman has some fault: it may be there is some
fleck in her beauty somewhere. And sooner than know that, I would prefer to retain my
unreasonable dreams, and this longing which is unfed and hopeless, and the memory of to-
night. Besides, if she were perfect in everything, how could I live any longer, who would have
no more to desire? No, I would be betraying my own interests, either way; and injustice is
always despicable."

So Jurgen sighed and gently replaced the robe of violet-colored wool, and he returned to his
Hamadryad.

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"And now that I think of it, too," reflected Jurgen, "I am behaving rather nobly. Yes, it is
questionless that I have to-night evinced a certain delicacy of feeling which merits
appreciation, at all events by King Achilles."

31.

The Fall of Pseudopolis

So Jurgen abode in Leukê, and complied with the customs of that country; and what with one
thing and another, he and Chloris made the time pass pleasantly enough, until the winter
solstice was at hand. Now Pseudopolis, as has been said, was at war with Philistia: so it befell
that at this season Leukê was invaded by an army of Philistines, led by their Queen Dolores, a
woman who was wise but not entirely reliable. They came from the coast, a terrible army
insanely clad in such garments as had been commanded by Ageus, a god of theirs; and
chaunting psalms in honor of their god Vel-Tyno, who had inspired this crusade: thus they
swept down upon Pseudopolis, and encamped before the city.

These Philistines fought in this campaign by casting before them a more horrible form of
Greek fire, which consumed whatever was not gray-colored. For that color alone was now
favored by their god Vel-Tyno. "And all other colors," his oracles had decreed, "are
forevermore abominable, until I say otherwise."

So the forces of Philistia were marshalled in the plain before Pseudopolis, and Queen Dolores
spoke to her troops. And smilingly she said:—

"Whenever you come to blows with the enemy he will be beaten. No mercy will be shown, no
prisoners taken. As the Philistines under Libnah and Goliath and Gershon, and a many other
tall captains, made for themselves a name which is still mighty in traditions and legend, even
thus to-day may the name of Realist be so fixed in Pseudopolis, by your deeds to-day, that no
one shall ever dare again even to look askance at a Philistine. Open the door for Realism, once
for all!"

Meanwhile within the city Achilles, King of Men, addressed his army:—

"The eyes of all the world will be upon you, because you are in some especial sense the
soldiers of Romance. Let it be your pride, therefore, to show all men everywhere, not only
what good soldiers you are, but also what good men you are, keeping yourselves fit and
straight in everything, and pure and clean through and through. Let us set ourselves a standard
so high that it will be a glory to live up to it, and then let us live up to it, and add a new laurel
to the crown of Pseudopolis. May the Gods of Old keep you and guide you!"

Then said Thersitês, in his beard: "Certainly Pelidês has learned from history with what
weapon a strong man discomfits the Philistines."

But the other kings applauded, and the trumpet was sounded, and the battle was joined. And
that day the forces of Philistia were everywhere triumphant. But they report a queer thing
happened: and it was that when the Philistines shouted in their triumph, Achilles and all they

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who served him rose from the ground like gleaming clouds and passed above the heads of the
Philistines, deriding them.

Thus was Pseudopolis left empty, so that the Philistines entered thereinto without any
opposition. They defiled this city of blasphemous colors, then burned it as a sacrifice to their
god Vel-Tyno, because the color of ashes is gray.

Then the Philistines erected lithoi (which were not unlike may-poles), and began to celebrate
their religious rites.

*****

So it was reported: but Jurgen witnessed none of these events.

"Let them fight it out," said Jurgen: "it is not my affair. I agree with Silenus: dullness will
conquer dullness, and it will not matter. But do you, woman dear, take shelter with your
kindred in the unconquerable Woods, for there is no telling what damage the Philistines may
do hereabouts."

"Will you go with me, Jurgen?"

"My dear, you know very well that it is impossible for me ever again to go into the Woods,
after the trick I played upon Phobetor."

"And if only you had kept your head about that bean-pole of a Helen, in her yellow wig—for I
have not a doubt that every strand of it is false, and at all events this is not a time to be
arguing about it, Jurgen,—why, then you would never have meddled with Uncle Phobetor! It
simply shows you!"

"Yes," said Jurgen.

"Still, I do not know. If you come with me into the Woods, Uncle Phobetor in his impetuous
way will quite certainly turn you into a boar-pig, because he has always done that to the
people who irritated him—"

"I seem to recognise that reason."

"—But give me time, and I can get around Uncle Phobetor, just as I have always done, and he
will turn you back."

"No," says Jurgen, obstinately, "I do not wish to be turned into a boar-pig."

"Now, Jurgen, let us be sensible about this! Of course, it is a little humiliating. But I will take
the very best of care of you, and feed you with my own acorns, and it will be a purely
temporary arrangement. And to be a pig for a week or two, or even for a month, is infinitely
better for a poet than being captured by the Philistines."

"How do I know that?" says Jurgen.

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"—For it is not, after all, as if Uncle Phobetor's heart were not in the right place. It is just his
way. And besides, you must remember what you did with that gimlet!"

Said Jurgen: "All this is hardly to the purpose. You forget I have seen the hapless swine of
Phobetor, and I know how he ameliorates the natural ferocity of his boar-pigs. No, I am
Jurgen. So I remain. I will face the Philistines and whatever they may possibly do to me,
rather than suffer that which Phobetor will quite certainly do to me."

"Then I stay too," said Chloris.

"No, woman dear—!"

"But do you not understand?" says Chloris, a little pale, as he saw now. "Since the life of a
hamadryad is linked with the life of her tree, nobody can harm me so long as my tree lives:
and if they cut down my tree I shall die, wherever I may happen to be."

"I had forgotten that." He was really troubled now.

"—And you can see for yourself, Jurgen, it is quite out of the question for me to be carrying
that great oak anywhere, and I wonder at your talking such nonsense."

"Indeed, my dear," says Jurgen, "we are very neatly trapped. Well, nobody can live longer in
peace than his neighbor chooses. Nevertheless, it is not fair."

As he spoke the Philistines came forth from the burning city. Again the trumpet sounded, and
the Philistines advanced in their order of battle.

32.

Sundry Devices of the Philistines

Meanwhile the People of the Field had watched Pseudopolis burn, and had wondered what
would befall them. They had not long to wonder, for next day the Fields were occupied,
without any resistance by the inhabitants.

"The People of the Field," said they, "have never fought, and for them to begin now would be
a very unheard-of thing indeed."

So the Fields were captured by the Philistines, and Chloris and Jurgen and all the People of
the Field were judged summarily. They were declared to be obsolete illusions, whose merited
doom was to be relegated to limbo. To Jurgen this appeared unreasonable.

"For I am no illusion," he asserted. "I am manifestly flesh and blood, and in addition, I am the
high King of Eubonia, and no less. Why, in disputing these facts you contest circumstances
that are so well known hereabouts as to rank among mathematical certainties. And that makes
you look foolish, as I tell you for your own good."

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This vexed the leaders of the Philistines, as it always vexes people to be told anything for
their own good. "We would have you know," said they, "that we are not mathematicians; and
that moreover, we have no kings in Philistia, where all must do what seems to be expected of
them, and have no other law."

"How then can you be the leaders of Philistia?"

"Why, it is expected that women and priests should behave unaccountably. Therefore all we
who are women or priests do what we will in Philistia, and the men there obey us. And it is
we, the priests of Philistia, who do not think you can possibly have any flesh and blood under
a shirt which we recognize to be a conventional figure of speech. It does not stand to reason.
And certainly you could not ever prove such a thing by mathematics; and to say so is
nonsense."

"But I can prove it by mathematics, quite irrefutably. I can prove anything you require of me
by whatever means you may prefer," said Jurgen, modestly, "for the simple reason that I am a
monstrous clever fellow."

Then spoke the wise Queen Dolores, saying: "I have studied mathematics. I will question this
young man, in my tent to-night, and in the morning I will report the truth as to his claims. Are
you content to endure this interrogatory, my spruce young fellow who wear the shirt of a
king?"

Jurgen looked full upon her: she was lovely as a hawk is lovely: and of all that Jurgen saw
Jurgen approved. He assumed the rest to be in keeping: and deduced that Dolores was a fine
woman.

"Madame and Queen," said Jurgen, "I am content. And I can promise to deal fairly with you."

So that evening Jurgen was conducted into the purple tent of Queen Dolores of Philistia. It
was quite dark there, and Jurgen went in alone, and wondering what would happen next: but
this scented darkness he found of excellent augury, if only because it prevented his shadow
from following him.

"Now, you who claim to be flesh and blood, and King of Eubonia, too," says the voice of
Queen Dolores, "what is this nonsense you were talking about proving any such claims by
mathematics?"

"Well, but my mathematics," replied Jurgen, "are Praxagorean."

"What, do you mean Praxagoras of Cos?"

"As if," scoffed Jurgen, "anybody had ever heard of any other
Praxagoras!"

"But he, as I recall, belonged to the medical school of the Dogmatici," observed the wise
Queen Dolores, "and was particularly celebrated for his researches in anatomy. Was he, then,
also a mathematician?"

"The two are not incongruous, madame, as I would be delighted to demonstrate."

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"Oh, nobody said that! For, indeed, it does seem to me I have heard of this Praxagorean
system of mathematics, though, I confess, I have never studied it."

"Our school, madame, postulates, first of all, that since the science of mathematics is an
abstract science, it is best inculcated by some concrete example."

Said the Queen: "But that sounds rather complicated."

"It occasionally leads to complications," Jurgen admitted, "through a choice of the wrong
example. But the axiom is no less true."

"Come, then, and sit next to me on this couch if you can find it in the dark; and do you
explain to me what you mean."

"Why, madame, by a concrete example I mean one that is perceptible to any of the senses—as
to sight or hearing, or touch—"

"Oh, oh!" said the Queen, "now I perceive what you mean by a concrete example. And
grasping this, I can understand that complications must of course arise from a choice of the
wrong example."

"Well, then, madame, it is first necessary to implant in you, by the force of example, a lively
sense of the peculiar character, and virtues and properties, of each of the numbers upon which
is based the whole science of Praxagorean mathematics. For in order to convince you
thoroughly, we must start far down, at the beginning of all things."

"I see," said the Queen, "or rather, in this darkness I cannot see at all, but I perceive your
point. Your opening interests me: and you may go on."

"Now ONE, or the monad," says Jurgen, "is the principle and the end of all: it reveals the
sublime knot which binds together the chain of causes: it is the symbol of identity, of equality,
of existence, of conservation, and of general harmony." And Jurgen emphasized these
characteristics vigorously. "In brief, ONE is a symbol of the union of things: it introduces that
generating virtue which is the cause of all combinations: and consequently ONE is a good
principle."

"Ah, ah!" said Queen Dolores, "I heartily admire a good principle.
But what has become of your concrete example?"

"It is ready for you, madame: there is but ONE Jurgen."

"Oh, I assure you, I am not yet convinced of that. Still, the audacity of your example will help
me to remember ONE, whether or not you prove to be really unique."

"Now, TWO, or the dyad, the origin of contrasts—"

Jurgen went on penetratingly to demonstrate that TWO was a symbol of diversity and of
restlessness and of disorder, ending in collapse and separation: and was accordingly an evil
principle. Thus was the life of every man made wretched by the struggle between his TWO

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components, his soul and his body; and thus was the rapture of expectant parents considerably
abated by the advent of TWINS.

THREE, or the triad, however, since everything was composed of three substances, contained
the most sublime mysteries, which Jurgen duly communicated. We must remember, he
pointed out, that Zeus carried a TRIPLE thunderbolt, and Poseidon a TRIDENT, whereas
Adês was guarded by a dog with THREE heads: this in addition to the omnipotent brothers
themselves being a TRIO.

Thus Jurgen continued to impart the Praxagorean significance of each digit separately: and by
and by the Queen was declaring his flow of wisdom was superhuman.

"Ah, but, madame, not even the wisdom of a king is without limit.
EIGHT, I repeat, then, is appropriately the number of the
Beatitudes. And NINE, or the ennead, also, being the multiple of
THREE, should be regarded as sacred—"

The Queen attended docilely to his demonstration of the peculiar properties of NINE. And
when he had ended she confessed that beyond doubt NINE should be regarded as miraculous.
But she repudiated his analogues as to the muses, the lives of a cat, and how many tailors
made a man.

"Rather, I shall remember always," she declared, "that King Jurgen of Eubonia is a NINE
days' wonder."

"Well, madame," said Jurgen, with a sigh, "now that we have reached
NINE, I regret to say we have exhausted the digits."

"Oh, what a pity!" cried Queen Dolores. "Nevertheless, I will concede the only illustration I
disputed; there is but ONE Jurgen: and certainly this Praxagorean system of mathematics is a
fascinating study." And promptly she commenced to plan Jurgen's return with her into
Philistia, so that she might perfect herself in the higher branches of mathematics. "For you
must teach me calculus and geometry and all other sciences in which these digits are
employed. We can arrange some compromise with the priests. That is always possible with
the priests of Philistia, and indeed the priests of Sesphra can be made to help anybody in
anything. And as for your Hamadryad, I will attend to her myself."

"But, no," says Jurgen, "I am ready enough in all conscience to compromise elsewhere: but to
compound with the forces of Philistia is the one thing I cannot do."

"Do you mean that, King Jurgen?" The Queen was astounded.

"I mean it, my dear, as I mean nothing else. You are in many ways an admirable people, and
you are in all ways a formidable people. So I admire, I dread, I avoid, and at the very last
pinch I defy. For you are not my people, and willy-nilly my gorge rises against your laws, as
equally insane and abhorrent. Mind you, though, I assert nothing. You may be right in
attributing wisdom to these laws; and certainly I cannot go so far as to say you are wrong: but
still, at the same time—! That is the way I feel about it. So I, who compromise with
everything else, can make no compromise with Philistia. No, my adored Dolores, it is not a
virtue, rather it is an instinct with me, and I have no choice."

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Even Dolores, who was Queen of all the Philistines, could perceive that this man spoke
truthfully. "I am sorry," says she, with real regret, "for you could be much run after in
Philistia."

"Yes," said Jurgen, "as an instructor in mathematics."

"But, no, King Jurgen, not only in mathematics," said Dolores, reasonably. "There is poetry,
for instance! For they tell me you are a poet, and a great many of my people take poetry quite
seriously, I believe. Of course, I do not have much time for reading, myself. So you can be the
Poet Laureate of Philistia, on any salary you like. And you can teach us all your ideas by
writing beautiful poems about them. And you and I can be very happy together."

"Teach, teach! there speaks Philistia, and very temptingly, too, through an adorable mouth,
that would bribe me with praise and fine food and soft days forever. It is a thing that happens
rather often, though. And I can but repeat that art is not a branch of pedagogy!"

"Really I am heartily sorry. For apart from mathematics, I like you,

King Jurgen, just as a person."

"I, too, am sorry, Dolores. For I confess to a weakness for the women of Philistia."

"Certainly you have given me no cause to suspect you of any weakness in that quarter,"
observed Dolores, "in the long while you have been alone with me, and have talked so wisely
and have reasoned so deeply. I am afraid that after to-night I shall find all other men more or
less superficial. Heigho! and I shall probably weep my eyes out to-morrow when you are
relegated to limbo. For that is what the priests will do with you, King Jurgen, on one plea or
another, if you do not conform to the laws of Philistia."

"And that one compromise I cannot make! Ah, but even now I have a plan wherewith to
escape your priests: and failing that, I possess a cantrap to fall back upon in my hour of direst
need. My private affairs are thus not yet in a hopeless or even in a dejected condition. This
fact now urges me to observe that TEN, or the decade, is the measure of all, since it contains
all the numeric relations and harmonies—"

So they continued their study of mathematics until it was time for

Jurgen to appear again before his judges.

And in the morning Queen Dolores sent word to her priests that she was too sleepy to attend
their council, but that the man was indisputably flesh and blood, amply deserved to be a king,
and as a mathematician had not his peer.

Now these points being settled, the judges conferred, and Jurgen was decreed a backslider
into the ways of undesirable error. His judges were the priests of Vel-Tyno and Sesphra and
Ageus, who are the Gods of Philistia.

Then the priest of Ageus put on his spectacles and consulted the canonical law, and declared
that this change in the indictment necessitated a severance of Jurgen from the others, in the
infliction of punishment.

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"For each, of course, must be relegated to the limbo of his fathers, as was foretold, in order
that the prophecies may be fulfilled. Religion languishes when prophecies are not fulfilled.
Now it appears that the forefathers of the flesh and blood prisoner were of a different faith
from the progenitors of these obsolete illusions, and that his fathers foretold quite different
things, and that their limbo was called Hell."

"It is little you know," says Jurgen, "of the religion of Eubonia."

"We have it written down in this great book," the priest of Vel-Tyno then told him,—"every
word of it without blot or error."

"Then you will see that the King of Eubonia is the head of the church there, and changes all
the prophecies at will. Learned Gowlais says so directly: and the judicious Stevegonius was
forced to agree with him, however unwillingly, as you will instantly discover by consulting
the third section of his widely famous nineteenth chapter."

"Both Gowlais and Stevegonius were probably notorious heretics," says the priest of Ageus.
"I believe that was settled once for all at the Diet of Orthumar."

"Eh!" says Jurgen. He did not like this priest. "Now I will wager, sirs," Jurgen continued, a
trifle patronizingly, "that you gentlemen have not read Gowlais, or even Stevegonius, in the
light of Vossler's commentaries. And that is why you underrate them."

"I at least have read every word that was ever written by any of these three," replied the priest
of Sesphra—"and with, as I need hardly say, the liveliest abhorrence. And this Gowlais in
particular, as I hasten to agree with my learned confrère, is a most notorious heretic—"

"Oh, sir," said Jurgen, horrified, "whatever are you telling me about Gowlais!"

"I tell you that I have been roused to indignation by his Historia de Bello Veneris—"

"You surprise me: still—"

"—Shocked by his Pornoboscodidascolo—"

"I can hardly believe it: even so, you must grant—"

"—And horrified by his Liber de immortalitate Mentulæ—"

"Well, conceding you that earlier work, sir, yet, at the same time—"

"—And have been disgusted by his De modo coeundi—"

"Ah, but, none the less—"

"—And have shuddered over the unspeakable enormities of his Erotopægnion! of his
Cinædica! and especially of his Epipedesis, that most pestilential and abominable book, quem
sine horrore nemo potest legere—"

"Still, you cannot deny—"

127
"—And have read also all the confutations of this detestable
Gowlais: as those of Zanchius, Faventinus, Lelius Vincentius,
Lagalla, Thomas Giaminus, and eight other admirable commentators—"

"You are very exact, sir: but—"

"—And that, in short, I have read every book you can imagine," says the priest of Sesphra.

The shoulders of Jurgen rose to his ears, and Jurgen silently flung out his hands, palms
upward.

"For, I perceive," says Jurgen, to himself, "that this Realist is too circumstantial for me. None
the less, he invents his facts: it is by citing books which never existed that he publicly
confutes the Gowlais whom I invented privately: and that is not fair. Now there remains only
one chance for Jurgen; but luckily that chance is sure."

"Why are you fumbling in your pocket?" asks the old priest of Ageus, fidgeting and peering.

"Aha, you may well ask!" cried Jurgen. He unfolded the cantrap which had been given him by
the Master Philologist, and which Jurgen had treasured against the time when more was
needed than a glib tongue. "O most unrighteous judges," says Jurgen, sternly, "now hear and
tremble! 'At the death of Adrian the Fifth, Pedro Juliani, who should be named John the
Twentieth, was through an error in the reckoning elevated to the papal chair as John the
Twenty-first!'"

"Hah, and what have we to do with that?" inquired the priest of Vel-Tyno, with raised
eyebrows. "Why are you telling us of these irrelevant matters?"

"Because I thought it would interest you," said Jurgen. "It was a fact that appeared to me
rather amusing. So I thought I would mention it."

"Then you have very queer ideas of amusement," they told him. And
Jurgen perceived that either he had not employed his cantrap
correctly or else that its magic was unappreciated by the leaders of
Philistia.

33.

Farewell to Chloris

Now the Philistines led out their prisoners, and made ready to inflict the doom which was
decreed. And they permitted the young King of Eubonia to speak with Chloris.

"Farewell to you now, Jurgen!" says Chloris, weeping softly. "It is little I care what foolish
words these priests of Philistia may utter against me. But the big-armed axemen are felling
my tree yonder, to get them timber to make a bedstead for the Queen of Philistia: for that is
what this Queen Dolores ordered them to do the first thing this morning."

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And Jurgen raised his hands. "You women!" he said. "What man would ever have thought of
that?"

"So when my tree is felled I must depart into a sombre land wherein there is no laughter at all;
and where the puzzled dead go wandering futilely through fields of scentless asphodel, and
through tall sullen groves of myrtle,—the puzzled quiet dead, who may not even weep as I do
now, but can only wonder what it is that they regret. And I too must taste of Lethê, and forget
all I have loved."

"You should give thanks to the imagination of your forefathers, my dear, that your doom is no
worse. For I am going into a more barbaric limbo, into the Hell of a people who thought
entirely too much about flames and pitchforks," says Jurgen, ruefully. "I tell you it is the
deuce and all, to come of morbid ancestry." And he kissed Chloris, upon the brow. "My dear,
dear girl," he said, with a gulp, "as long as you remember me, do so with charity."

"Jurgen"—and she clung close to him—"you were not ever unkind, not even for a moment.
Jurgen, you have not ever spoken one harsh word to me or any other person, in all the while
we were together. O Jurgen, whom I have loved as you could love nobody, it was not much
those other women had left me to worship!"

"Indeed, it is a pity that you loved me, Chloris, for I was not worthy." And for the instant
Jurgen meant it.

"If any other person said that, Jurgen, I would be very angry. And even to hear you say it
troubles me, because there was never a hamadryad between two hills that had a husband one-
half so clever-foolish as he made light of time and chance, with his sleek black head cocked to
one side, and his mischievous brown eyes a-twinkle."

And Jurgen wondered that this should be the notion Chloris had of him, and that a gesture
should be the things she remembered about him: and he was doubly assured that no woman
bothers to understand the man she elects to love and cosset and slave for.

"O woman dear," says Jurgen, "but I have loved you, and my heart is water now that you are
taken from me: and to remember your ways and the joy I had in them will be a big and
grinding sorrow in the long time to come. Oh, not with any heroic love have I loved you, nor
with any madness and high dreams, nor with much talking either; but with a love befitting my
condition, with a quiet and cordial love."

"And must you be trying, while I die, to get your grieving for me into the right words?" she
asks him, smiling very sadly. "No matter: you are Jurgen, and I have loved you. And I am
glad that I shall know nothing about it when in the long time, to come you will be telling so
many other women about what was said by Zorobasius and Ptolemopiter, and when you will
be posturing and romancing for their delight. For presently I shall have tasted Lethê: and
presently I shall have forgotten you, King Jurgen, and all the joy I had in you, and all the
pride, and all the love I had for you, King Jurgen, who loved me as much as you were able."

"Why, and will there be any love-making, do you think, in Hell?" he asks her, with a doleful
smile.

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"There will be love-making," she replied, "wherever you go, King Jurgen. And there will be
women to listen. And at the last there will be a bean-pole of a woman, in a wig."

"I am sorry—" he said. "And yet I have loved you, Chloris."

"That is my comfort now. And presently there will be Lethê. I put the greater faith in Lethê.
And still, I cannot help but love you, Jurgen, in whom I have no faith at all."

He said, again: "I am not worthy."

They kissed. Then each of them was conveyed to an appropriate doom.

And tears were in the eyes of Jurgen, who was not used to weep: and he thought not at all of
what was to befall him, but only of this and that small trivial thing which would have pleased
his Chloris had Jurgen done it, and which for one reason or another Jurgen had left undone.

"I was not ever unkind to her, says she! ah, but I might have been so much kinder. And now I
shall not ever see her any more, nor ever any more may I awaken delight and admiration in
those bright tender eyes which saw no fault in me! Well, but it is a comfort surely that she
does not know how I devoted the last night she was to live to teaching mathematics."

And then Jurgen wondered how he would be despatched into the Hell of his fathers? And
when the Philistines showed him in what manner they proposed to inflict their sentence he
wondered at his own obtuseness.

"For I might have surmised this would be the way of it," said Jurgen. "And yet as always there
is a simplicity in the methods of the Philistines which is unimaginable by really clever
fellows. And as always, too, these methods are unfair to us clever fellows. Well, I am willing
to taste any drink once: but this is a very horrible device, none the less; and I wonder if I have
the pluck to endure it?"

Then as he stood considering this matter, a man-at-arms came hurrying. He brought with him
three great rolled parchments, with seals and ribbons and everything in order: and these were
Jurgen's pardon and Jurgen's nomination as Poet Laureate of Philistia and Jurgen's
appointment as Mathematician Royal.

The man-at-arms brought also a letter from Queen Dolores, and this
Jurgen read with a frown.

"Do you consider now what fun it would be to hood-wink everybody by pretending to
conform to our laws!" said this letter, and it said nothing more: Dolores was really a wise
woman. Yet there was a postscript. "For we could be so happy!" said the postscript.

And Jurgen looked toward the Woods, where men were sawing up a great oak-tree. And
Jurgen gave a fine laugh, and with fine deliberateness he tore up the Queen's letter into little
strips. Then statelily he took the parchments, and found they were so tough he could not tear
them. This was uncommonly awkward, for Jurgen's ill-advised attempt to tear the parchments
impaired the dignity of his magnanimous self-sacrifice: he even suspected one of the guards
of smiling. So there was nothing for it but presently to give up that futile tugging and jerking,
and to compromise by crumpling these parchments.

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"This is my answer," said Jurgen heroically, and with some admiration of himself, but still a
little dashed by the uncalled-for toughness of the parchments.

Then Jurgen cried farewell to fallen Leukê; and scornfully he cried farewell to the Philistines
and to their devices. Then he submitted to their devices. Thus, it was without making any
special protest about it that Jurgen was relegated to limbo, and was despatched to the Hell of
his fathers, two days before Christmas.

34.

How Emperor Jurgen Fared Infernally

Now the tale tells how the devils of Hell were in one of their churches celebrating Christmas
in such manner as the devils observe that day; and how Jurgen came through the trapdoor in
the vestry-room; and how he saw and wondered over the creatures which inhabited this place.
For to him after the Christmas services came all such devils as his fathers had foretold, and in
not a hair or scale or talon did they differ from the worst that anybody had been able to
imagine.

"Anatomy is hereabouts even more inconsequent than in Cocaigne," was Jurgen's first
reflection. But the first thing the devils did was to search Jurgen very carefully, in order to
make sure he was not bringing any water into Hell.

"Now, who may you be, that come to us alive, in a fine shirt of which we never saw the like
before?" asked Dithican. He had the head of a tiger, but otherwise the appearance of a large
bird, with shining feathers and four feet: his neck was yellow, his body green, and his feet
black.

"It would not be treating honestly with you to deny that I am the
Emperor of Noumaria," said Jurgen, somewhat advancing his estate.

Now spoke Amaimon, in the form of a thick suet-colored worm going upright upon his tail,
which shone like the tail of a glowworm. He had no feet, but under his chops were two short
hands, and upon his back were bristles such as grow upon hedgehogs.

"But we are rather overrun with emperors," said Amaimon, doubtfully, "and their crimes are a
great trouble to us. Were you a very wicked ruler?"

"Never since I became an emperor," replied Jurgen, "has any of my subjects uttered one word
of complaint against me. So it stands to reason I have nothing very serious with which to
reproach myself."

"Your conscience, then, does not demand that you be punished?"

"My conscience, gentlemen, is too well-bred to insist on anything."

"You do not even wish to be tortured?"

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"Well, I admit I had expected something of the sort. But none the less, I will not make a point
of it," said Jurgen, handsomely. "No, I shall be quite satisfied even though you do not torture
me at all."

And then the mob of devils made a great to-do over Jurgen.

"For it is exceedingly good to have at least one unpretentious and undictatorial human being
in Hell. Nobody as a rule drops in on us save inordinately proud and conscientious ghosts,
whose self-conceit is intolerable, and whose demands are outrageous."

"How can that be?"

"Why, we have to punish them. Of course they are not properly punished until they are
convinced that what is happening to them is just and adequate. And you have no notion what
elaborate tortures they insist their exceeding wickedness has merited, as though that which
they did or left undone could possibly matter to anybody. And to contrive these torments quite
tires us out."

"But wherefore is this place called the Hell of my fathers?"

"Because your forefathers builded it in dreams," they told him, "out of the pride which led
them to believe that what they did was of sufficient importance to merit punishment. Or so at
least we have heard: but if you want the truth of the matter you must go to our Grandfather at
Barathum."

"I shall go to him, then. And do my own grandfathers, and all the forefathers that I had in the
old time, inhabit this gray place?"

"All such as are born with what they call a conscience come hither," the devils said. "Do you
think you could persuade them to go elsewhere? For in that event, we would be deeply
obliged to you. Their self-conceit is pitiful: but it is also a nuisance, because it prevents our
getting any rest."

"Perhaps I can help you to obtain justice, and certainly to attempt to secure justice for you is
my imperial duty. But who governs this country?"

They told him how Hell was divided into principalities that had for governors Lucifer and
Beelzebub and Belial and Ascheroth and Phlegeton: but that over all these was Grandfather
Satan, who lived in the Black House at Barathum.

"Well, I prefer," says Jurgen, "to deal directly with your principal, especially if he can explain
the polity of this insane and murky country. Do some of you conduct me to him in such state
as becomes an emperor!"

So Cannagosta fetched a wheelbarrow, and Jurgen got into it, and Cannagosta trundled him
away. Cannagosta was something like an ox, but rather more like a cat, and his hair was curly.

And as they came through Chorasma, a very uncomfortable place where the damned abide in
torment, whom should Jurgen see but his own father, Coth, the son of Smoit and Steinvor,
standing there chewing his long moustaches in the midst of an especially tall flame.

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"Do you stop now for a moment!" says Jurgen, to his escort.

"Oh, but this is the most vexatious person in all Hell!" cried
Cannagosta; "and a person whom there is absolutely no pleasing!"

"Nobody knows that better than I," says Jurgen.

And Jurgen civilly bade his father good-day, but Coth did not recognize this spruce young
Emperor of Noumaria, who went about Hell in a wheelbarrow.

"You do not know me, then?" says Jurgen.

"How should I know you when I never saw you before?" replied Coth, irritably.

And Jurgen did not argue the point: for he knew that he and his father could never agree about
anything. So Jurgen kept silent for that time, and Cannagosta wheeled him through the gray
twilight, descending always deeper and yet deeper into the lowlands of Hell, until they had
come to Barathum.

35.

What Grandfather Satan Reported

Next the tale tells how three inferior devils made a loud music with bagpipes as Jurgen went
into the Black House of Barathum, to talk with Grandfather Satan.

Satan was like a man of sixty, or it might be sixty-two, in all things save that he was covered
with gray fur, and had horns like those of a stag. He wore a breech-clout of very dark gray,
and he sat in a chair of black marble, on a daïs: his bushy tail, which was like that of a
squirrel, waved restlessly over his head as he looked at Jurgen, without speaking, and without
turning his mind from an ancient thought. And his eyes were like light shining upon little
pools of ink, for they had no whites to them.

"What is the meaning of this insane country?" says Jurgen, plunging at the heart of things.
"There is no sense in it, and no fairness at all."

"Ah," replied Satan, in his curious hoarse voice, "you may well say that: and it is what I was
telling my wife only last night."

"You have a wife, then!" says Jurgen, who was always interested in such matters. "Why, but
to be sure! either as a Christian or as a married man, I should have comprehended this was
Satan's due. And how do you get on with her?"

"Pretty well," says Grandfather Satan: "but she does not understand me."

"Et tu, Brute!" says Jurgen.

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"And what does that mean?"

"It is an expression connotating astonishment over an event without parallel. But everything
in Hell seems rather strange, and the place is not at all as it was rumored to be by the priests
and the bishops and the cardinals that used to be exhorting me in my fine palace at Breschau."

"And where, did you say, is this palace?"

"In Noumaria, where I am the Emperor Jurgen. And I need not insult you by explaining
Breschau is my capital city, and is noted for its manufacture of linen and woolen cloth and
gloves and cameos and brandy, though the majority of my subjects are engaged in cattle-
breeding and agricultural pursuits."

"Of course not: for I have studied geography. And, Jurgen, it is often I have heard of you,
though never of your being an emperor."

"Did I not say this place was not in touch with new ideas?"

"Ah, but you must remember that thoughtful persons keep out of Hell. Besides, the war with
Heaven prevents us from thinking of other matters. In any event, you Emperor Jurgen, by
what authority do you question Satan, in Satan's home?"

"I have heard that word which the ass spoke with the cat," replied
Jurgen; for he recollected upon a sudden what Merlin had shown him.

Grandfather Satan nodded comprehendingly. "All honor be to Set and Bast! and may their
power increase. This, Emperor, is how my kingdom came about."

Then Satan, sitting erect and bleak in his tall marble chair, explained how he, and all the
domain and all the infernal hierarchies he ruled, had been created extempore by Koshchei, to
humor the pride of Jurgen's forefathers. "For they were exceedingly proud of their sins. And
Koshchei happened to notice Earth once upon a time, with your forefathers walking about it
exultant in the enormity of their sins and in the terrible punishments they expected in requital.
Now Koshchei will do almost anything to humor pride, because to be proud is one of the two
things that are impossible to Koshchei. So he was pleased, oh, very much pleased: and after
he had had his laugh out, he created Hell extempore, and made it just such a place as your
forefathers imagined it ought to be, in order to humor the pride of your forefathers."

"And why is pride impossible to Koshchei?"

"Because he made things as they are; and day and night he contemplates things as they are,
having nothing else to look at. How, then, can Koshchei be proud?"

"I see. It is as if I were imprisoned in a cell wherein there was nothing, absolutely nothing,
except my verses. I shudder to think of it! But what is this other thing which is impossible to
Koshchei?"

"I do not know. It is something that does not enter into Hell."

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"Well, I wish I too had never entered here, and now you must assist me to get out of this
murky place."

"And why must I assist you?"

"Because," said Jurgen, and he drew out the cantrap of the Master
Philologist, "because at the death of Adrian the Fifth, Pedro
Juliani, who should be named John the Twentieth, was through an
error in the reckoning elevated to the papal chair as John the
Twenty-first. Do you not find my reason sufficient?"

"No," said Grandfather Satan, after thinking it over, "I cannot say that I do. But, then, popes
go to Heaven. It is considered to look better, all around, and particularly by my countrymen,
inasmuch as many popes have been suspected of pro-Celestialism. So we admit none of them
into Hell, in order to be on the safe side, now that we are at war. In consequence, I am no
judge of popes and their affairs, nor do I pretend to be."

And Jurgen perceived that again he had employed his cantrap

incorrectly or else that it was impotent to rescue people from
Satan. "But who would have thought," he reflected, "that Grandfather
Satan was such a simple old creature!"

"How long, then, must I remain here?" asks Jurgen, after a dejected pause.

"I do not know," replies Satan. "It must depend entirely upon what your father thinks about it
—"

"But what has he to do with it?"

"—Since I and all else that is here are your father's absurd notions, as you have so frequently
proved by logic. And it is hardly possible that such a clever fellow as you can be mistaken."

"Why, of course, that is not possible," says Jurgen. "Well, the matter is rather complicated.
But I am willing to taste any drink once: and I shall manage to get justice somehow, even in
this unreasonable place where my father's absurd notions are the truth."

So Jurgen left the Black House of Barathum: and Jurgen also left Grandfather Satan, erect and
bleak in his tall marble chair, and with his eyes gleaming in the dim light, as he sat there
restively swishing his soft bushy tail, and not ever turning his mind from an ancient thought.

36.

Why Coth was Contradicted

Then Jurgen went back to Chorasma, where Coth, the son of Smoit and Steinvor, stood
conscientiously in the midst of the largest and hottest flame he had been able to imagine, and

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rebuked the outworn devils who were tormenting him, because the tortures they inflicted were
not adequate to the wickedness of Coth.

And Jurgen cried to his father: "The lewd fiend Cannagosta told you I was the Emperor of
Noumaria, and I do not deny it even now. But do you not perceive I am likewise your son
Jurgen?"

"Why, so it is," said Coth, "now that I look at the rascal. And how,
Jurgen, did you become an emperor?"

"Oh, sir, and is this a place wherein to talk about mere earthly dignities? I am surprised your
mind should still run upon these empty vanities even here in torment."

"But it is inadequate torment, Jurgen, such as does not salve my conscience. There is no
justice in this place, and no way of getting justice. For these shiftless devils do not take
seriously that which I did, and they merely pretend to punish me, and so my conscience stays
unsatisfied."

"Well, but, father, I have talked with them, and they seem to think your crimes do not amount
to much, after all."

Coth flew into one of his familiar rages. "I would have you know that I killed eight men in
cold blood, and held five other men while they were being killed. I estimate the sum of such
iniquity as ten and a half murders, and for these my conscience demands that I be punished."

"Ah, but, sir, that was fifty years or more ago, and these men would now be dead in any event,
so you see it does not matter now."

"I went astray with women, with I do not know how many women."

Jurgen shook his head. "This is very shocking news for a son to receive, and you can imagine
my feelings. None the less, sir, that also was fifty years ago, and nobody is bothering over it
now."

"You jackanapes, I tell you that I swore and stole and forged and burned four houses and
broke the Sabbath and was guilty of mayhem and spoke disrespectfully to my mother and
worshipped a stone image in Porutsa. I tell you I shattered the whole Decalogue, time and
again. I committed all the crimes that were ever heard of, and invented six new ones."

"Yes, sir," said Jurgen: "but, still, what does it matter if you did?"

"Oh, take away this son of mine!" cried Coth: "for he is his mother
all over again; and though I was the vilest sinner that ever lived,
I have not deserved to be plagued twice with such silly questions.
And I demand that you loitering devils bring more fuel."

"Sir," said a panting little fiend, in the form of a tadpole with hairy arms and legs like a
monkey's, as he ran up with four bundles of faggots, "we are doing the very best we can for
your discomfort. But you damned have no consideration for us, and do not remember that we
are on our feet day and night, waiting upon you," said the little devil, whimpering, as with his

136
pitchfork he raked up the fire about Coth. "You do not even remember the upset condition of
the country, on account of the war with Heaven, which makes it so hard for us to get you all
the inconveniences of life. Instead, you lounge in your flames, and complain about the
service, and Grandfather Satan punishes us, and it is not fair."

"I think, myself," said Jurgen, "you should be gentler with the boy. And as for your crimes,
sir, come, will you not conquer this pride which you nickname conscience, and concede that
after any man has been dead a little while it does not matter at all what he did? Why, about
Bellegarde no one ever thinks of your throat-cutting and Sabbath-breaking except when very
old people gossip over the fire, and your wickedness brightens up the evening for them. To
the rest of us you are just a stone in the churchyard which describes you as a paragon of all
the virtues. And outside of Bellegarde, sir, your name and deeds mean nothing now to
anybody, and no one anywhere remembers you. So really your wickedness is not bothering
any person now save these poor toiling devils: and I think that, in consequence, you might
consent to put up with such torments as they can conveniently contrive, without complaining
so ill-temperedly about it."

"Ah, but my conscience, Jurgen! that is the point."

"Oh, if you continue to talk about your conscience, sir, you restrict the conversation to matters
I do not understand, and so cannot discuss. But I dare say we will find occasion to thresh out
this, and all other matters, by and by: and you and I will make the best of this place, for now I
will never leave you."

Coth began to weep: and he said that his sins in the flesh had been too heinous for this
comfort to be permitted him in the unendurable torment which he had fairly earned, and
hoped some day to come by.

"Do you care about me, one way or the other, then?" says Jurgen, quite astounded.

And from the midst of his flame Coth, the son of Smoit, talked of the birth of Jurgen, and of
the infant that had been Jurgen, and of the child that had been Jurgen. And a horrible, deep,
unreasonable emotion moved in Jurgen as he listened to the man who had begotten him, and
whose flesh was Jurgen's flesh, and whose thoughts had not ever been Jurgen's thoughts: and
Jurgen did not like it. Then the voice of Coth was bitterly changed, as he talked of the young
man that had been Jurgen, of the young man who was idle and rebellious and considerate of
nothing save his own light desires; and of the division which had arisen between Jurgen and
Jurgen's father Coth spoke likewise: and Jurgen felt better now, but was still grieved to know
how much his father had once loved him.

"It is lamentably true," says Jurgen, "that I was an idle and rebellious son. So I did not follow
your teachings. I went astray, oh, very terribly astray. I even went astray, sir I must tell you,
with a nature myth connected with the Moon."

"Oh, hideous abomination of the heathen!"

"And she considered, sir, that thereafter I was likely to become a solar legend."

"I should not wonder," said Coth, and he shook his bald and dome-shaped head despondently.
"Ah, my son, it simply shows you what comes of these wild courses."

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"And in that event, I would, of course, be released from sojourning in the underworld by the
Spring Equinox. Do you not think so, sir?" says Jurgen, very coaxingly, because he
remembered that, according to Satan, whatever Coth believed would be the truth in Hell.

"I am sure," said Coth—"why, I am sure I do not know anything about such matters."

"Yes, but what do you think?"

"I do not think about it at all."

"Yes, but—"

"Jurgen, you have a very uncivil habit of arguing with people—"

"Still, sir—"

"And I have spoken to you about it before—"

"Yet, father—"

"And I do not wish to have to speak to you about it again—"

"None the less, sir—"

"And when I say that I have no opinion—"

"But everybody has an opinion, father!" Jurgen shouted this, and felt it was quite like old
times.

"How dare you speak to me in that tone of voice, sir!"

"But I only meant—"

"Do not lie to me, Jurgen! and stop interrupting me! For, as I was saying when you began to
yell at your father as though you were addressing an unreasonable person, it is my opinion
that I know nothing whatever about Equinoxes! and do not care to know anything about
Equinoxes, I would have you understand! and that the less said as to such disreputable topics
the better, as I tell you to your face!"

And Jurgen groaned. "Here is a pretty father! If you had thought so, it would have happened.
But you imagine me in a place like this, and have not sufficient fairness, far less paternal
affection, to imagine me out of it."

"I can only think of your well merited affliction, you quarrelsome scoundrel! and of the host
of light women with whom you have sinned! and of the doom which has befallen you in
consequence!"

"Well, at worst," says Jurgen, "there are no women here. That ought to be a comfort to you."

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"I think there are women here," snapped his father. "It is reputed that quite a number of
women have had consciences. But these conscientious women are probably kept separate
from us men, in some other part of Hell, for the reason that if they were admitted into
Chorasma they would attempt to tidy the place and make it habitable. I know your mother
would have been meddling out of hand."

"Oh, sir, and must you still be finding fault with mother?"

"Your mother, Jurgen, was in many ways an admirable woman. But," said Coth, "she did not
understand me."

"Ah, well, that may have been the trouble. Still, all this you say about women being here is
mere guess-work."

"It is not!" said Coth, "and I want none of your impudence, either.
How many times must I tell you that?"

Jurgen scratched his ear reflectively. For he still remembered what

Grandfather Satan had said, and Coth's irritation seemed promising.
"Well, but the women here are all ugly, I wager."

"They are not!" said his father, angrily. "Why do you keep contradicting me?"

"Because you do not know what you are talking about," says Jurgen, egging him on. "How
could there be any pretty women in this horrible place? For the soft flesh would be burned
away from their little bones, and the loveliest of queens would be reduced to a horrid cinder."

"I think there are any number of vampires and succubi and such creatures, whom the flames
do not injure at all, because these creatures are informed with an ardor that is unquenchable
and is more hot than fire. And you understand perfectly what I mean, so there is no need for
you to stand there goggling at me like a horrified abbess!"

"Oh, sir, but you know very well that I would have nothing to do with such unregenerate
persons."

"I do not know anything of the sort. You are probably lying to me. You always lied to me. I
think you are on your way to meet a vampire now."

"What, sir, a hideous creature with fangs and leathery wings!"

"No, but a very poisonous and seductively beautiful creature."

"Come, now! you do not really think she is beautiful."

"I do think so. How dare you tell me what I think and do not think!"

"Ah, well, I shall have nothing to do with her."

"I think you will," said his father: "ah, but I think you will be up to your tricks with her before
this hour is out. For do I not know what emperors are? and do I not know you?"

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And Coth fell to talking of Jurgen's past, in the customary terms of a family squabble, such as
are not very nicely repeatable elsewhere. And the fiends who had been tormenting Coth
withdrew in embarrassment, and so long as Coth continued talking they kept out of earshot.

37.

Invention of the Lovely Vampire

So again Coth parted with his son in anger, and Jurgen returned again toward Barathum; and,
whether or not it was a coincidence, Jurgen met precisely the vampire of whom he had
inveigled his father into thinking. She was the most seductively beautiful creature that it
would be possible for Jurgen's father or any other man to imagine: and her clothes were
orange-colored, for a reason sufficiently well known in Hell, and were embroidered
everywhere with green fig-leaves.

"A good morning to you, madame," says Jurgen, "and whither are you going?"

"Why, to no place at all, good youth. For this is my vacation, granted yearly by the Law of
Kalki—"

"And who is Kalki, madame?"

"Nobody as yet: but he will come as a stallion. Meanwhile his Law precedes him, so that I am
spending my vacation peacefully in Hell, with none of my ordinary annoyances to bother me."

"And what, madame, can they be?"

"Why, you must understand that it is little rest a vampire gets on earth, with so many fine
young fellows like yourself going about everywhere eager to be destroyed."

"But how, madame, did you happen to become a vampire if the life does not please you? And
what is it that they call you?"

"My name, sir," replied the Vampire, sorrowfully, "is Florimel, because my nature no less
than my person was as beautiful as the flowers of the field and as sweet as the honey which
the bees (who furnish us with such admirable examples of industry) get out of these flowers.
But a sad misfortune changed all this. For I chanced one day to fall ill and die (which, of
course, might happen to anyone), and as my funeral was leaving the house the cat jumped
over my coffin. That was a terrible misfortune to befall a poor dead girl so generally
respected, and in wide demand as a seamstress; though, even then, the worst might have been
averted had not my sister-in-law been of what they call a humane disposition and foolishly
attached to the cat. So they did not kill it, and I, of course, became a vampire."

"Yes, I can understand that was inevitable. Still, it seems hardly fair. I pity you, my dear."
And Jurgen sighed.

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"I would prefer, sir, that you did not address me thus familiarly, since you and I have omitted
the formality of an introduction; and in the absence of any joint acquaintances are unlikely
ever to meet properly."

"I have no herald handy, for I travel incognito. However, I am that

Jurgen who recently made himself Emperor of Noumaria, King of
Eubonia, Prince of Cocaigne, and Duke of Logreus; and of whom you
have doubtless heard."

"Why, to be sure!" says she, patting her hair straight. "And who would have anticipated
meeting your highness in such a place!"

"One says 'majesty' to an emperor, my dear. It is a detail, of course: but in my position one
has to be a little exigent."

"I perfectly comprehend, your majesty; and indeed I might have divined your rank from your
lovely clothes. I can but entreat you to overlook my unintentional breach of etiquette: and I
make bold to add that a kind heart reveals the splendor of its graciousness through the interest
which your majesty has just evinced in my disastrous history."

"Upon my word," thinks Jurgen, "but in this flow of words I seem to recognize my father's
imagination when in anger."

Then Florimel told Jurgen of her horrible awakening in the grave, and of what had befallen
her hands and feet there, the while that against her will she fed repugnantly, destroying first
her kindred and then the neighbors. This done, she had arisen.

"For the cattle still lived, and that troubled me. When I had put an end to this annoyance, I
climbed into the church belfry, not alone, for one went with me of whom I prefer not to talk;
and at midnight I sounded the bell so that all who heard it would sicken and die. And I wept
all the while, because I knew that when everything had been destroyed which I had known in
my first life in the flesh, I would be compelled to go into new lands, in search of the food
which alone can nourish me, and I was always sincerely attached to my home. So it was, your
majesty, that I forever relinquished my sewing, and became a lovely peril, a flashing
desolation, and an evil which smites by night, in spite of my abhorrence of irregular hours:
and what I do I dislike extremely, for it is a sad fate to become a vampire, and still to
sympathize with your victims, and particularly with their poor mothers."

So Jurgen comforted Florimel, and he put his arm around her.

"Come, come!" he said, "but I will see that your vacation passes pleasantly. And I intend to
deal fairly with you, too."

Then he glanced sidewise at his shadow, and whispered a suggestion which caused Florimel
to sigh. "By the terms of my doom," said she, "at no time during the nine lives of the cat can I
refuse. Still, it is a comfort you are the Emperor of Noumaria and have a kind heart."

"Oh, and a many other possessions, my dear! and I again assure you that I intend to deal fairly
with you."

141
So Florimel conducted Jurgen, through the changeless twilight of Barathum, like that of a
gray winter afternoon, to a quiet cleft by the Sea of Blood, which she had fitted out very
cosily in imitation of her girlhood home; and she lighted a candle, and made him welcome to
her cleft. And when Jurgen was about to enter it he saw that his shadow was following him
into the Vampire's home.

"Let us extinguish this candle!" says Jurgen, "for I have seen so many flames to-day that my
eyes are tired."

So Florimel extinguished the candle, with a good-will that delighted Jurgen. And now they
were in utter darkness, and in the dark nobody can see what is happening. But that Florimel
now trusted Jurgen and his Noumarian claims was evinced by her very first remark.

"I was in the beginning suspicious of your majesty," said Florimel, "because I had always
heard that every emperor carried a magnificent sceptre, and you then displayed nothing of the
sort. But now, somehow, I do not doubt you any longer. And of what is your majesty
thinking?"

"Why, I was reflecting, my dear," says Jurgen, "that my father imagines things very
satisfactorily."

38.

As to Applauded Precedents

Afterward Jurgen abode in Hell, and complied with the customs of that country. And the tale
tells that a week or it might be ten days after his meeting with Florimel, Jurgen married her,
without being at all hindered by his having three other wives. For the devils, he found,
esteemed polygamy, and ranked it above mere skill at torturing the damned, through a literal
interpretation of the saying that it is better to marry than to burn.

"And formerly," they told Jurgen, "you could hardly come across a marriage anywhere that
was not hallmarked 'made in Heaven': but since we have been at war with Heaven we have
quite taken away that trade from our enemies. So you may marry here as much as you like."

"Why, then," says Jurgen, "I shall marry in haste, and repeat at leisure. But can one obtain a
divorce here?"

"Oh, no," said they. "We trafficked in them for a while, but we found that all persons who
obtained divorces through our industry promptly thanked Heaven they were free at last. In the
face of such ingratitude we gave over that profitless trade, and now there is a manufactory, for
specialties in men's clothing, upon the old statutory grounds."

"But these makeshifts are unsatisfactory, and I wish to know, in confidence, what do you do
in Hell when there is no longer any putting up with your wives."

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The devils all blushed. "We would prefer not to tell you," said they, "for it might get to their
ears."

"Now do I perceive," said Jurgen, "that Hell is pretty much like any other place."

So Jurgen and the lovely Vampire were duly married. First Jurgen's nails were trimmed, and
the parings were given to Florimel. A broomstick was laid before them, 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.

143
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 child-like 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 candle-wick, 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.

144
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 war-time: so that
Satan must term after term be re-elected: and of course Satan had been voted absolute power
in everything, since this too is customary in wartime. Well, and after the first few thousand
years of this the younger devils began to whisper that such government was not ideal
democracy.

But their more conservative elders were enraged by these effete and wild new notions, and
dealt with their juniors somewhat severely, tearing them into bits and quite destroying them.
The elder devils then proceeded to inflict even more startling punishments.

*****

So Grandfather Satan was much vexed, because the laws were being violated everywhere: and
a day or two after Jurgen's advent Satan issued a public appeal to his subjects, that the code of
Hell should be better respected. But under a democratic government people do not like to be
perpetually bothering about law and order, as one of the older and stronger devils pointed out
to Jurgen.

Jurgen drew a serious face, and he stroked his chin. "Why, but look you," says Jurgen, "in
deploring the mob spirit that has been manifesting itself sporadically throughout this country
against the advocates of peace and submission to the commands of Heaven and other pro-
Celestial propaganda,—and in warning loyal citizenship that such outbursts must be guarded
against, as hurtful to the public welfare of Hell,—why, Grandfather Satan should bear in mind
that the government, in large measure, holds the remedy of the evil in its own hands." And
Jurgen looked very severely toward Satan.

"Come now," says Phlegeton, nodding his head, which was like that of a bear, except for his
naked long, red ears, inside each of which was a flame like that of a spirit-lamp: "come now,
but this young emperor in the fine shirt speaks uncommonly well!"

"So we spoke together in Pandemonium," said Belial, wistfully, "in the brave days when
Pandemonium was newly built and we were all imps together."

"Yes, his talk is of the old school, than which there is none better. So pray continue, Emperor
Jurgen," cried the elderly devils, "and let us know what you are talking about."

"Why, merely this," says Jurgen, and again he looked severely toward Satan: "I tell you that
as long as sentimental weakness marks the prosecution of offences in violation of the laws
necessitated by war-time conditions; as long as deserved punishment for overt acts of pro-
Celestialism is withheld; as long as weak-kneed clemency condones even a suspicion of
disloyal thinking: then just so long will a righteously incensed, if now and then misguided
patriotism take into its own hands vengeance upon the offenders."

"But, still—" said Grandfather Satan.

"Ineffectual administration of the law," continued Jurgen, sternly, "is the true defence of these
outbursts: and far more justly deplorable than acts of mob violence is the policy of
condonation that furnishes occasion for them. The patriotic people of Hell are not in a temper
to be trifled with, now that they are at war. Conviction for offenses against the nation should

145
not be behedged about with technicalities devised for over-refined peacetime jurisprudence.
Why, there is no one of you, I am sure, but has at his tongue's tip the immortal words of
Livonius as to this very topic: and so I shall not repeat them. But I fancy you will agree with
me that what Livonius says is unanswerable."

So it was that Jurgen went on at a great rate, and looking always very sternly at Grandfather
Satan.

"Yes, yes!" said Satan, wriggling uncomfortably, but still not thinking of Jurgen entirely:
"yes, all this is excellent oratory, and not for a moment would I decry the authority of
Livonius. And your quotation is uncommonly apropos and all that sort of thing. But with what
are you charging me?"

"With sentimental weakness," retorted Jurgen. "Was it not only yesterday one of the younger
devils was brought before you, upon the charge that he had said the climate in Heaven was
better than the climate here? And you, sir, Hell's chief magistrate—you it was who actually
asked him if he had ever uttered such a disloyal heresy!"

"Now, but what else was I to do?" said Satan, fidgeting, and swishing his great bushy tail so
that it rustled against his horns, and still not really turning his mind from that ancient thought.

"You should have remembered, sir, that a devil whose patriotism is impugned is a devil to be
punished; and that there is no time to be prying into irrevelant questions of his guilt or
innocence. Otherwise, I take it, you will never have any real democracy in Hell."

Now Jurgen looked very impressive, and the devils were all cheering him.

"And so," says Jurgen, "your disgusted hearers were wearied by such frivolous
interrogatories, and took the fellow out of your hands, and tore him into particularly small
bits. Now I warn you, Grandfather Satan, that it is your duty as a democratic magistrate just
so to deal with such offenders first of all, and to ask your silly questions afterward. For what
does Rudigernus say outright upon this point? and Zantipher Magnus, too? Why, my dear sir,
I ask you plainly, where in the entire history of international jurisprudence will you find any
more explicit language than these two employ?"

"Now certainly," says Satan, with his bleak smile, "you cite very respectable authority: and I
shall take your reproof in good part. I will endeavor to be more strict in the future. And you
must not blame my laxity too severely, Emperor Jurgen, for it is a long while since any man
came living into Hell to instruct us how to manage matters in time of war. No doubt, precisely
as you say, we do need a little more severity hereabouts, and would gain by adopting more
human methods. Rudigernus, now?—yes, Rudigernus is rather unanswerable, and I concede it
frankly. So do you come home and have supper with me, Emperor Jurgen, and we will talk
over these things."

Then Jurgen went off arm in arm with Grandfather Satan, and Jurgen's erudition and sturdy
common-sense were forevermore established among the older and more solid element in Hell.
And Satan followed Jurgen's suggestions, and the threatened rebellion was satisfactorily
discouraged, by tearing into very small fragments anybody who grumbled about anything. So
that all the subjects of Satan went about smiling broadly all the time at the thought of what

146
might befall them if they seemed dejected. Thus was Hell a happier looking place because of
Jurgen's coming.

39.

Of Compromises in Hell

Now Grandfather Satan's wife was called Phyllis: and apart from having wings like a bat's,
she was the loveliest little slip of devilishness that Jurgen had seen in a long while. Jurgen
spent this night at the Black House of Barathum, and two more nights, or it might be three
nights: and the details of what Jurgen used to do there, after supper, when he would walk
alone in the Black House Gardens, among the artfully colored cast-iron flowers and
shrubbery, and would so come to the grated windows of Phyllis's room, and would stand there
joking with her in the dark, are not requisite to this story.

Satan was very jealous of his wife, and kept one of her wings clipped and held her under lock
and key, as the treasure that she was. But Jurgen was accustomed to say afterward that, while
the gratings over the windows were very formidable, they only seemed somehow to enhance
the piquancy of his commerce with Dame Phyllis. This queen, said Jurgen, he had found
simply unexcelled at repartee.

Florimel considered the saying cryptic: just what precisely did his majesty mean?

"Why, that in any and all circumstances Dame Phyllis knows how to take a joke, and to return
as good as she receives."

"So your majesty has already informed me: and certainly jokes can be exchanged through a
grating—"

"Yes, that was what I meant. And Dame Phyllis appeared to appreciate my ready flow of
humor. She informs me Grandfather Satan is of a cold dry temperament, with very little
humor in him, so that they go for months without exchanging any pleasantries. Well, I am
willing to taste any drink once: and for the rest, remembering that my host had very enormous
and intimidating horns, I was at particular pains to deal fairly with my hostess. Though,
indeed, it was more for the honor and the glory of the affair than anything else that I
exchanged pleasantries with Satan's wife. For to do that, my dear, I felt was worthy of the
Emperor Jurgen."

"Ah, I am afraid your majesty is a sad scapegrace," replied Florimel: "however, we all know
that the sceptre of an emperor is respected everywhere."

"Indeed," says Jurgen, "I have often regretted that I did not bring with me my jewelled sceptre
when I left Noumaria."

She shivered at some unspoken thought: it was not until some while afterward that Florimel
told Jurgen of her humiliating misadventure with the absent-minded Sultan of Garçao's

147
sceptre. Now she only replied that jewels might, conceivably, seem ostentatious and out of
place.

Jurgen agreed to this truism: for of course they were living very quietly, and Jurgen was
splendid enough for any reasonable wife's requirements, in his glittering shirt.

So Jurgen got on pleasantly with Florimel. But he never became as fond of her as he had been
of Guenevere or Anaïtis, nor one-tenth as fond of her as he had been of Chloris. In the first
place, he suspected that Florimel had been invented by his father, and Coth and Jurgen had
never any tastes in common: and in the second place, Jurgen could not but see that Florimel
thought a great deal of his being an emperor.

"It is my title she loves, not me," reflected Jurgen, sadly, "and her affection is less for that
which is really integral to me than for imperial orbs and sceptres and such-like external
trappings."

And Jurgen would come out of Florimel's cleft considerably dejected, and would sit alone by
the Sea of Blood, and would meditate how inequitable it was that the mere title of emperor
should thus shut him off from sincerity and candor.

"We who are called kings and emperors are men like other men: we are as rightly entitled as
other persons to the solace of true love and affection: instead, we live in a continuous
isolation, and women offer us all things save their hearts, and we are a lonely folk. No, I
cannot believe that Florimel loves me for myself alone: it is my title which dazzles her. And I
would that I had never made myself the emperor of Noumaria: for this emperor goes about
everywhere in a fabulous splendor, and is, very naturally, resistless in his semi-mythical
magnificence. Ah, but these imperial gewgaws distract the thoughts of Florimel from the real
Jurgen; so that the real Jurgen is a person whom she does not understand at all. And it is not
fair."

Then, too, he had a sort of prejudice against the way in which Florimel spent her time in
seducing and murdering young men. It was not possible, of course, actually to blame the girl,
since she was the victim of circumstances, and had no choice about becoming a vampire, once
the cat had jumped over her coffin. Still, Jurgen always felt, in his illogical masculine way,
that her vocation was not nice. And equally in the illogical way of men, did he persist in
coaxing Florimel to tell him of her vampiric transactions, in spite of his underlying feeling
that he would prefer to have his wife engaged in some other trade: and the merry little
creature would humor him willingly enough, with her purple eyes a-sparkle, and with her
vivid lips curling prettily back, so as to show her tiny white sharp teeth quite plainly.

She was really very pretty thus, as she told him of what happened in Copenhagen when young
Count Osmund went down into the blind beggar-woman's cellar, and what they did with bits
of him; and of how one kind of serpent came to have a secret name, which, when cried aloud
in the night, with the appropriate ceremony, will bring about delicious happenings; and of
what one can do with small unchristened children, if only they do not kiss you, with their
moist uncertain little mouths, for then this thing is impossible; and of what use she had made
of young Sir Ganelon's skull, when he was through with it, and she with him; and of what the
young priest Wulfnoth had said to the crocodiles at the very last.

148
"Oh, yes, my life has its amusing side," said Florimel: "and one likes to feel, of course, that
one is not wholly out of touch with things, and is even, in one's modest way, contributing to
the suppression of folly. But even so, your majesty, the calls that are made upon one! the
things that young men expect of you, as the price of their bodily and spiritual ruin! and the
things their relatives say about you! and, above all, the constant strain, the irregular hours, and
the continual effort to live up to one's position! Oh, yes, your majesty, I was far happier when
I was a consumptive seamstress and took pride in my buttonholes. But from a sister-in-law
who only has you in to tea occasionally as a matter of duty, and who is prominent in
churchwork, one may, of course, expect anything. And that reminds me that I really must tell
your majesty about what happened in the hay-loft, just after the abbot had finished undressing
—"

So she would chatter away, while Jurgen listened and smiled indulgently. For she certainly
was very pretty. And so they kept house in Hell contentedly enough until Florimel's vacation
was at an end: and then they parted, without any tears but in perfect friendliness.

And Jurgen always remembered Florimel most pleasantly, but not as a wife with whom he
had ever been on terms of actual intimacy.

Now when this lovely Vampire had quitted him, the Emperor Jurgen, in spite of his general
popularity and the deference accorded his political views, was not quite happy in Hell.

"It is a comfort, at any rate," said Jurgen, "to discover who originated the theory of democratic
government. I have long wondered who started the notion that the way to get a wise decision
on any conceivable question was to submit it to a popular vote. Now I know. Well, and the
devils may be right in their doctrines; certainly I cannot go so far as to say they are wrong: but
still, at the same time—!"

For instance, this interminable effort to make the universe safe for democracy, this continual
warring against Heaven because Heaven clung to a tyrannical form of autocratic government,
sounded both logical and magnanimous, and was, of course, the only method of insuring any
general triumph for democracy: yet it seemed rather futile to Jurgen, since, as he knew now,
there was certainly something in the Celestial system which made for military efficiency, so
that Heaven usually won. Moreover, Jurgen could not get over the fact that Hell was just a
notion of his ancestors with which Koshchei had happened to fall in: for Jurgen had never
much patience with antiquated ideas, particularly when anyone put them into practice, as
Koshchei had done.

"Why, this place appears to me a glaring anachronism," said Jurgen, brooding over the fires of
Chorasma: "and its methods of tormenting conscientious people I cannot but consider very
crude indeed. The devils are simple-minded and they mean well, as nobody would dream of
denying, but that is just it: for hereabouts is needed some more pertinacious and efficiently
disagreeable person—"

And that, of course, reminded him of Dame Lisa: and so it was the thoughts of Jurgen turned
again to doing the manly thing. And he sighed, and went among the devils tentatively looking
and inquiring for that intrepid fiend who in the form of a black gentleman had carried off
Dame Lisa. But a queer happening befell, and it was that nowhere could Jurgen find the black
gentleman, nor did any of the devils know anything about him.

149
"From what you tell us, Emperor Jurgen," said they all, "your wife was an acidulous shrew,
and the sort of woman who believes that whatever she does is right."

"It was not a belief," says Jurgen: "it was a mania with the poor dear."

"By that fact, then, she is forever debarred from entering Hell."

"You tell me news," says Jurgen, "which if generally known would lead many husbands into
vicious living."

"But it is notorious that people are saved by faith. And there is no faith stronger than that of a
bad-tempered woman in her own infallibility. Plainly, this wife of yours is the sort of person
who cannot be tolerated by anybody short of the angels. We deduce that your Empress must
be in Heaven."

"Well, that sounds reasonable. And so to Heaven I will go, and it may be that there I shall find
justice."

"We would have you know," the fiends cried, bristling, "that in Hell we have all kinds of
justice, since our government is an enlightened democracy."

"Just so," says Jurgen: "in an enlightened democracy one has all kinds of justice, and I would
not dream of denying it. But you have not, you conceive, that lesser plague, my wife; and it is
she whom I must continue to look for."

"Oh, as you like," said they, "so long as you do not criticize the exigencies of war-time. But
certainly we are sorry to see you going into a country where the benighted people put up with
an autocrat Who was not duly elected to His position. And why need you continue seeking
your wife's society when it is so much pleasanter living in Hell?"

And Jurgen shrugged. "One has to do the manly thing sometimes."

So the fiends told him the way to Heaven's frontiers, pitying him.
"But the crossing of the frontier must be your affair."

"I have a cantrap," said Jurgen; "and my stay in Hell has taught me how to use it."

Then Jurgen followed his instructions, and went into Meridie, and turned to the left when he
had come to the great puddle where the adders and toads are reared, and so passed through the
mists of Tartarus, with due care of the wild lightning, and took the second turn to his left
—"always in seeking Heaven be guided by your heart," had been the advice given him by
devils,—and thus avoiding the abode of Jemra, he crossed the bridge over the Bottomless Pit
and the solitary Narakas. And Brachus, who kept the toll-gate on this bridge, did that of which
the fiends had forewarned Jurgen: but for this, of course, there was no help.

40.

The Ascension of Pope Jurgen

150
The tale tells how on the feast of the Annunciation Jurgen came to the high white walls which
girdle Heaven. For Jurgen's forefathers had, of course, imagined that Hell stood directly
contiguous to Heaven, so that the blessed could augment their felicity by gazing down upon
the tortures of the damned. Now at this time a boy angel was looking over the parapet of
Heaven's wall.

"And a good day to you, my fine young fellow," says Jurgen. "But of what are you thinking
so intently?" For just as Dives had done long years before, now Jurgen found that a man's
voice carries perfectly between Hell and Heaven.

"Sir," replies the boy, "I was pitying the poor damned."

"Why, then, you must be Origen," says Jurgen, laughing.

"No, sir, my name is Jurgen."

"Heyday!" says Jurgen: "well, but this Jurgen has been a great many persons in my time. So
very possibly you speak the truth."

"I am Jurgen, the son of Coth and Azra."

"Ah, ah! but so were all of them, my boy."

"Why, then, I am Jurgen, the grandson of Steinvor, and the grandchild whom she loved above
her other grandchildren: and so I abide forever in Heaven with all the other illusions of
Steinvor. But who, messire, are you that go about Hell unscorched, in such a fine looking
shirt?"

Jurgen reflected. Clearly it would never do to give his real name, and thus raise the question
as to whether Jurgen was in Heaven or Hell. Then he recollected the cantrap of the Master
Philologist, which Jurgen had twice employed incorrectly. And Jurgen cleared his throat, for
he believed that he now understood the proper use of cantraps.

"Perhaps," says Jurgen, "I ought not to tell you who I am. But what is life without confidence
in one another? Besides, you appear a boy of remarkable discretion. So I will confide in you
that I am Pope John the Twentieth, Heaven's regent upon Earth, now visiting this place upon
Celestial business which I am not at liberty to divulge more particularly, for reasons that will
at once occur to a young man of your unusual cleverness."

"Oh, but I say! that is droll. Do you just wait a moment!" cried the boy angel.

His bright face vanished, with a whisking of brown curls: and Jurgen carefully re-read the
cantrap of the Master Philologist. "Yes, I have found, I think, the way to use such magic,"
observes Jurgen.

Presently the young angel re-appeared at the parapet. "I say, messire! I looked on the Register
—all popes are admitted here the moment they die, without inquiring into their private affairs,
you know, so as to avoid any unfortunate scandal,—and we have twenty-three Pope Johns
listed. And sure enough, the mansion prepared for John the Twentieth is vacant. He seems to
be the only pope that is not in Heaven."

151
"Why, but of course not," says Jurgen, complacently, "inasmuch as you see me, who was once
Bishop of Rome and servant to the servants of God, standing down here on this cinder-heap."

"Yes, but none of the others in your series appears to place you. John the Nineteenth says he
never heard of you, and not to bother him in the middle of a harp lesson—"

"He died before my accession, naturally."

"—And John the Twenty-first says he thinks they lost count somehow, and that there never
was any Pope John the Twentieth. He says you must be an impostor."

"Ah, professional jealousy!" sighed Jurgen: "dear me, this is very sad, and gives one a poor
opinion of human nature. Now, my boy, I put it to you fairly, how could there have been a
twenty-first unless there had been a twentieth? And what becomes of the great principle of
papal infallibility when a pope admits to a mistake in elementary arithmetic? Oh, but this is a
very dangerous heresy, let me tell you, an Inquisition matter, a consistory business! Yet,
luckily, upon his own contention, this Pedro Juliani—"

"And that was his name, too, for he told me! You evidently know all about it, messire," said
the young angel, visibly impressed.

"Of course, I know all about it. Well, I repeat, upon his own contention this man is non-
existent, and so, whatever he may say amounts to nothing. For he tells you there was never
any Pope John the Twentieth: and either he is lying or he is telling you the truth. If he is lying,
you, of course, ought not to believe him: yet, if he is telling you the truth, about there never
having been any Pope John the Twentieth, why then, quite plainly, there was never any Pope
John the Twenty-first, so that this man asserts his own non-existence; and thus is talking
nonsense, and you, of course, ought not to believe in nonsense. Even did we grant his insane
contention that he is nobody, you are too well brought up, I am sure, to dispute that nobody
tells lies in Heaven: it follows that in this case nobody is lying; and so, of course, I must be
telling the truth, and you have no choice save to believe me."

"Now, certainly that sounds all right," the younger Jurgen conceded: "though you explain it so
quickly it is a little difficult to follow you."

"Ah, but furthermore, and over and above this, and as a tangible proof of the infallible
particularity of every syllable of my assertion," observes the elder Jurgen, "if you will look in
the garret of Heaven you will find the identical ladder upon which I descended hither, and
which I directed them to lay aside until I was ready to come up again. Indeed, I was just about
to ask you to fetch it, inasmuch as my business here is satisfactorily concluded."

Well, the boy agreed that the word of no pope, whether in Hell or
Heaven, was tangible proof like a ladder: and again he was off.
Jurgen waited, in tolerable confidence.

It was a matter of logic. Jacob's Ladder must from all accounts have been far too valuable to
throw away after one night's use at Beth-El; it would come in very handy on Judgment Day:
and Jurgen's knowledge of Lisa enabled him to deduce that anything which was being kept
because it would come in handy some day would inevitably be stored in the garret, in any

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establishment imaginable by women. "And it is notorious that Heaven is a delusion of old
women. Why, the thing is a certainty," said Jurgen; "simply a mathematical certainty."

And events proved his logic correct: for presently the younger Jurgen came back with Jacob's
Ladder, which was rather cobwebby and obsolete looking after having been lain aside so long.

"So you see you were perfectly right," then said this younger Jurgen, as he lowered Jacob's
Ladder into Hell. "Oh, Messire John, do hurry up and have it out with that old fellow who
slandered you!"

Thus it came about that Jurgen clambered merrily from Hell to Heaven upon a ladder of
unalloyed, time-tested gold: and as he climbed the shirt of Nessus glittered handsomely in the
light which shone from Heaven: and by this great light above him, as Jurgen mounted higher
and yet higher, the shadow of Jurgen was lengthened beyond belief along the sheer white wall
of Heaven, as though the shadow were reluctant and adhered tenaciously to Hell. Yet
presently Jurgen leaped the ramparts: and then the shadow leaped too; and so his shadow
came with Jurgen into Heaven, and huddled dispiritedly at Jurgen's feet.

"Well, well!" thinks Jurgen, "certainly there is no disputing the magic of the Master
Philologist when it is correctly employed. For through its aid I am entering alive into Heaven,
as only Enoch and Elijah have done before me: and moreover, if this boy is to be believed,
one of the very handsomest of Heaven's many mansions awaits my occupancy. One could not
ask more of any magician fairly. Aha, if only Lisa could see me now!"

That was his first thought. Afterward Jurgen tore up the cantrap and scattered its fragments as
the Master Philologist had directed. Then Jurgen turned to the boy who aided Jurgen to get
into Heaven.

"Come, youngster, and let us have a good look at you!"

And Jurgen talked with the boy that he had once been, and stood face to face with all that
Jurgen had been and was not any longer. And this was the one happening which befell Jurgen
that the writer of the tale lacked heart to tell of.

So Jurgen quitted the boy that he had been. But first had Jurgen learned that in this place his
grandmother Steinvor (whom King Smoit had loved) abode and was happy in her notion of
Heaven; and that about her were her notions of her children and of her grandchildren.
Steinvor had never imagined her husband in Heaven, nor King Smoit either.

"That is a circumstance," says Jurgen, "which heartens me to hope one may find justice here.
Yet I shall keep away from my grandmother, the Steinvor whom I knew and loved, and who
loved me so blindly that this boy here is her notion of me. Yes, in mere fairness to her, I must
keep away."

So he avoided that part of Heaven wherein were his grandmother's illusions: and this was
counted for righteousness in Jurgen. That part of Heaven smelt of mignonette, and a starling
was singing there.

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41.

Of Compromises in Heaven

Jurgen then went unhindered to where the God of Jurgen's grandmother sat upon a throne,
beside a sea of crystal. A rainbow, made high and narrow like a window frame, so as to fit the
throne, formed an arch-way in which He sat: at His feet burned seven lamps, and four
remarkable winged creatures sat there chaunting softly, "Glory and honor and thanks to Him
Who liveth forever!" In one hand of the God was a sceptre, and in the other a large book with
seven red spots on it.

There were twelve smaller thrones, without rainbows, upon each side of the God of Jurgen's
grandmother, in two semi-circles: upon these inferior thrones sat benignant-looking elderly
angels, with long white hair, all crowned, and clothed in white robes, and having a harp in one
hand, and in the other a gold flask, about pint size. And everywhere fluttered and glittered the
multicolored wings of seraphs and cherubs, like magnified paroquets, as they went softly and
gaily about the golden haze that brooded over Heaven, to a continuous sound of hushed organ
music and a remote and undistinguishable singing.

Now the eyes of this God met the eyes of Jurgen: and Jurgen waited thus for a long while, and
far longer, indeed, than Jurgen suspected.

"I fear You," Jurgen said, at last: "and, yes, I love You: and yet I cannot believe. Why could
You not let me believe, where so many believed? Or else, why could You not let me deride,
as the remainder derided so noisily? O God, why could You not let me have faith? for You
gave me no faith in anything, not even in nothingness. It was not fair."

And in the highest court of Heaven, and in plain view of all the angels, Jurgen began to weep.

"I was not ever your God, Jurgen."

"Once very long ago," said Jurgen, "I had faith in You."

"No, for that boy is here with Me, as you yourself have seen. And to-day there is nothing
remaining of him anywhere in the man that is Jurgen."

"God of my grandmother! God Whom I too loved in boyhood!" said Jurgen then: "why is it
that I am denied a God? For I have searched: and nowhere can I find justice, and nowhere can
I find anything to worship."

"What, Jurgen, and would you look for justice, of all places, in
Heaven?"

"No," Jurgen said; "no, I perceive it cannot be considered here.

Else You would sit alone."

"And for the rest, you have looked to find your God without, not looking within to see that
which is truly worshipped in the thoughts of Jurgen. Had you done so, you would have seen,
as plainly as I now see, that which alone you are able to worship. And your God is maimed:

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the dust of your journeying is thick upon him; your vanity is laid as a napkin upon his eyes;
and in his heart is neither love nor hate, not even for his only worshipper."

"Do not deride him, You Who have so many worshippers! At least, he is a monstrous clever
fellow," said Jurgen: and boldly he said it, in the highest court of Heaven, and before the
pensive face of the God of Jurgen's grandmother.

"Ah, very probably. I do not meet with many clever people. And as for My numerous
worshippers, you forget how often you have demonstrated that I was the delusion of an old
woman."

"Well, and was there ever a flaw in my logic?"

"I was not listening to you, Jurgen. You must know that logic does not much concern us,
inasmuch as nothing is logical hereabouts."

And now the four winged creatures ceased their chaunting, and the organ music became a far-
off murmuring. And there was silence in Heaven. And the God of Jurgen's grandmother, too,
was silent for a while, and the rainbow under which He sat put off its seven colors and burned
with an unendurable white, tinged bluishly, while the God considered ancient things. Then in
the silence this God began to speak.

Some years ago (said the God of Jurgen's grandmother) it was reported to Koshchei that
scepticism was abroad in his universe, and that one walked therein who would be contented
with no rational explanation. "Bring me this infidel," says Koshchei: so they brought to him in
the void a little bent gray woman in an old gray shawl. "Now, tell me why you will not
believe," says Koshchei, "in things as they are."

Then the decent little bent gray woman answered civilly; "I do not know, sir, who you may
happen to be. But, since you ask me, everybody knows that things as they are must be
regarded as temporary afflictions, and as trials through which we are righteously condemned
to pass, in order to attain to eternal life with our loved ones in Heaven."

"Ah, yes," said Koshchei, who made things as they are; "ah, yes, to be sure! and how did you
learn of this?"

"Why, every Sunday morning the priest discoursed to us about Heaven, and of how happy we
would be there after death."

"Has this woman died, then?" asked Koshchei.

"Yes, sir," they told him,—"recently. And she will believe nothing we explain to her, but
demands to be taken to Heaven."

"Now, this is very vexing," Koshchei said, "and I cannot, of course, put up with such
scepticism. That would never do. So why do you not convey her to this Heaven which she
believes in, and thus put an end to the matter?"

"But, sir," they told him, "there is no such place."

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Then Koshchei reflected. "It is certainly strange that a place which does not exist should be a
matter of public knowledge in another place. Where does this woman come from?"

"From Earth," they told him.

"Where is that?" he asked: and they explained to him as well as they could.

"Oh, yes, over that way," Koshchei interrupted. "I remember.

Now—but what is your name, woman who wish to go to Heaven?"

"Steinvor, sir: and if you please I am rather in a hurry to be with my children again. You see, I
have not seen any of them for a long while."

"But stay," said Koshchei: "what is that which comes into this woman's eyes as she speaks of
her children?" They told him it was love.

"Did I create this love?" says Koshchei, who made things as they are. And they told him, no:
and that there were many sorts of love, but that this especial sort was an illusion which
women had invented for themselves, and which they exhibited in all dealings with their
children. And Koshchei sighed.

"Tell me about your children," Koshchei then said to Steinvor: "and look at me as you talk, so
that I may see your eyes."

So Steinvor talked of her children: and Koshchei, who made all things, listened very
attentively. Of Coth she told him, of her only son, confessing Coth was the finest boy that
ever lived,—"a little wild, sir, at first, but then you know what boys are,"—and telling of how
well Coth had done in business and of how he had even risen to be an alderman. Koshchei,
who made all things, seemed properly impressed. Then Steinvor talked of her daughters, of
Imperia and Lindamira and Christine: of Imperia's beauty, and of Lindamira's bravery under
the mishaps of an unlucky marriage, and of Christine's superlative housekeeping. "Fine
women, sir, every one of them, with children of their own! and to me they still seem such
babies, bless them!" And the decent little bent gray woman laughed. "I have been very lucky
in my children, sir, and in my grandchildren, too," she told Koshchei. "There is Jurgen, now,
my Coth's boy! You may not believe it, sir, but there is a story I must tell you about Jurgen—"
So she ran on very happily and proudly, while Koshchei, who made all things, listened, and
watched the eyes of Steinvor.

Then privately Koshchei asked, "Are these children and grandchildren of Steinvor such as she
reports?"

"No, sir," they told him privately.

So as Steinvor talked Koshchei devised illusions in accordance with that which Steinvor said,
and created such children and grandchildren as she described. Male and female he created
them standing behind Steinvor, and all were beautiful and stainless: and Koshchei gave life to
these illusions.

Then Koshchei bade her turn about. She obeyed: and Koshchei was forgotten.

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Well, Koshchei sat there alone in the void, looking not very happy, and looking puzzled, and
drumming upon his knee, and staring at the little bent gray woman, who was busied with her
children and grandchildren, and had forgotten all about him. "But surely, Lindamira," he hears
Steinvor say, "we are not yet in Heaven."—"Ah, my dear mother," replies her illusion of
Lindamira, "to be with you again is Heaven: and besides, it may be that Heaven is like this,
after all."—"My darling child, it is sweet of you to say that, and exactly like you to say that.
But you know very well that Heaven is fully described in the Book of Revelations, in the
Bible, as the glorious place that Heaven is. Whereas, as you can see for yourself, around us is
nothing at all, and no person at all except that very civil gentleman to whom I was just
talking; and who, between ourselves, seems woefully uninformed about the most ordinary
matters."

"Bring Earth to me," says Koshchei. This was done, and Koshchei looked over the planet, and
found a Bible. Koshchei opened the Bible, and read the Revelation of St. John the Divine,
while Steinvor talked with her illusions. "I see," said Koshchei. "The idea is a little garish.
Still—!" So he replaced the Bible, and bade them put Earth, too, in its proper place, for
Koshchei dislikes wasting anything. Then Koshchei smiled and created Heaven about
Steinvor and her illusions, and he made Heaven just such a place as was described in the
book.

"And so, Jurgen, that was how it came about," ended the God of Jurgen's grandmother. "And
Me also Koshchei created at that time, with the seraphim and the saints and all the blessed,
very much as you see us: and, of course, he caused us to have been here always, since the
beginning of time, because that, too, was in the book."

"But how could that be done?" says Jurgen, with brows puckering.
"And in what way could Koshchei juggle so with time?"

"How should I know, since I am but the illusion of an old woman, as you have so frequently
proved by logic? Let it suffice that whatever Koshchei wills, not only happens, but has
already happened beyond the ancientest memory of man and his mother. How otherwise
could he be Koshchei?"

"And all this," said Jurgen, virtuously, "for a woman who was not even faithful to her
husband!"

"Oh, very probably!" said the God: "at all events, it was done for a woman who loved.
Koshchei will do almost anything to humor love, since love is one of the two things which are
impossible to Koshchei."

"I have heard that pride is impossible to Koshchei—"

The God of Jurgen's grandmother raised His white eyebrows. "What is pride? I do not think I
ever heard of it before. Assuredly it is something that does not enter here."

"But why is love impossible to Koshchei?"

"Because Koshchei made things as they are, and day and night he contemplates things as they
are. How, then, can Koshchei love anything?"

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But Jurgen shook his sleek black head. "That I cannot understand at all. If I were imprisoned
in a cell wherein was nothing except my verses I would not be happy, and certainly I would
not be proud: but even so, I would love my verses. I am afraid that I fall in more readily with
the ideas of Grandfather Satan than with Yours; and without contradicting You, I cannot but
wonder if what You reveal is true."

"And how should I know whether or not I speak the truth?" the God asked of him, "since I am
but the illusion of an old woman, as you have so frequently proved by logic."

"Well, well!" said Jurgen, "You may be right in all matters, and certainly I cannot presume to
say You are wrong: but still, at the same time—! No, even now I do not quite believe in You."

"Who could expect it of a clever fellow, who sees so clearly through the illusions of old
women?" the God asked, a little wearily.

And Jurgen answered:

"God of my grandmother, I cannot quite believe in You, and Your doings as they are recorded
I find incoherent and a little droll. But I am glad the affair has been so arranged that You may
always now be real to brave and gentle persons who have believed in and have worshipped
and have loved You. To have disappointed them would have been unfair: and it is right that
before the faith they had in You not even Koshchei who made things as they are was able to
be reasonable.

"God of my grandmother, I cannot quite believe in You; but remembering the sum of love and
faith that has been given You, I tremble. I think of the dear people whose living was confident
and glad because of their faith in You: I think of them, and in my heart contends a blind
contrition, and a yearning, and an enviousness, and yet a tender sort of amusement colors all.
Oh, God, there was never any other deity who had such dear worshippers as You have had,
and You should be very proud of them.

"God of my grandmother, I cannot quite believe in You, yet I am not as those who would
come peering at You reasonably. I, Jurgen, see You only through a mist of tears. For You
were loved by those whom I loved greatly very long ago: and when I look at You it is Your
worshippers and the dear believers of old that I remember. And it seems to me that dates and
manuscripts and the opinions of learned persons are very trifling things beside what I
remember, and what I envy!"

"Who could have expected such a monstrous clever fellow ever to envy the illusions of old
women?" the God of Jurgen's grandmother asked again: and yet His countenance was not
unfriendly.

"Why, but," said Jurgen, on a sudden, "why, but my grandmother—in a way—was right about
Heaven and about You also. For certainly You seem to exist, and to reign in just such estate
as she described. And yet, according to Your latest revelation, I too was right—in a way—
about these things being an old woman's delusions. I wonder now—?"

"Yes, Jurgen?"

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"Why, I wonder if everything is right, in a way? I wonder if that is the large secret of
everything? It would not be a bad solution, sir," said Jurgen, meditatively.

The God smiled. Then suddenly that part of Heaven was vacant, except for Jurgen, who stood
there quite alone. And before him was the throne of the vanished God and the sceptre of the
God, and Jurgen saw that the seven spots upon the great book were of red sealing-wax.

Jurgen was afraid: but he was particularly appalled by his consciousness that he was not going
to falter. "What, you who have been duke and prince and king and emperor and pope! and do
such dignities content a Jurgen? Why, not at all," says Jurgen.

So Jurgen ascended the throne of Heaven, and sat beneath that wondrous rainbow: and in his
lap now was the book, and in his hand was the sceptre, of the God of Jurgen's grandmother.

Jurgen sat thus, for a long while regarding the bright vacant courts of Heaven. "And what will
you do now?" says Jurgen, aloud. "Oh, fretful little Jurgen, you that have complained because
you had not your desire, you are omnipotent over Earth and all the affairs of men. What now
is your desire?" And sitting thus terribly enthroned, the heart of Jurgen was as lead within
him, and he felt old and very tired. "For I do not know. Oh, nothing can help me, for I do not
know what thing it is that I desire! And this book and this sceptre and this throne avail me
nothing at all, and nothing can ever avail me: for I am Jurgen who seeks he knows not what."

So Jurgen shrugged, and climbed down from the throne of the God, and wandering at
adventure, came presently to four archangels. They were seated upon a fleecy cloud, and they
were eating milk and honey from gold porringers: and of these radiant beings Jurgen inquired
the quickest way out of Heaven.

"For hereabouts are none of my illusions," said Jurgen, "and I must now return to such
illusions as are congenial. One must believe in something. And all that I have seen in Heaven
I have admired and envied, but in none of these things could I believe, and with none of these
things could I be satisfied. And while I think of it, I wonder now if any of you gentlemen can
give me news of that Lisa who used to be my wife?"

He described her; and they regarded him with compassion.

But these archangels, he found, had never heard of Lisa, and they assured him there was no
such person in Heaven. For Steinvor had died when Jurgen was a boy, and so she had never
seen Lisa; and in consequence, had not thought about Lisa one way or the other, when
Steinvor outlined her notions to Koshchei who made things as they are.

Now Jurgen discovered, too, that, when his eyes first met the eyes of the God of Jurgen's
grandmother, Jurgen had stayed motionless for thirty-seven days, forgetful of everything save
that the God of his grandmother was love.

"Nobody else has willingly turned away so soon," Zachariel told him: "and we think that your
insensibility is due to some evil virtue in the glittering garment which you are wearing, and of
which the like was never seen in Heaven."

"I did but search for justice," Jurgen said: "and I could not find it in the eyes of your God, but
only love and such forgiveness as troubled me."

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"Because of that should you rejoice," the four archangels said; "and so should all that lives
rejoice: and more particularly should we rejoice that dwell in Heaven, and hourly praise our
Lord God's negligence of justice, whereby we are permitted to enter into this place."

42.

Twelve That are Fretted Hourly

So it was upon Walburga's Eve, when almost anything is rather more than likely to happen,
that Jurgen went hastily out of Heaven, without having gained or wasted any love there. St.
Peter unbarred for him, not the main entrance, but a small private door, carved with
innumerable fishes in bas-relief, because this exit opened directly upon any place you chose to
imagine.

"For thus," St. Peter said, "you may return without loss of time to your own illusions."

"There was a cross," said Jurgen, "which I used to wear about my neck, through motives of
sentiment, because it once belonged to my dead mother. For no woman has ever loved me
save that Azra who was my mother—"

"I wonder if your mother told you that?" St. Peter asked him, smiling reminiscently. "Mine
did, time and again. And sometimes I have wondered—? For, as you may remember, I was a
married man, Jurgen: and my wife did not quite understand me," said St. Peter, with a sigh.

"Why, indeed," says Jurgen, "my case is not entirely dissimilar: and the more I marry, the less
I find of comprehension. I should have had more sympathy with King Smoit, who was
certainly my grandfather. Well, you conceive, St. Peter, these other women have trusted me,
more or less, because they loved a phantom Jurgen. But Azra trusted me not at all, because
she loved me with clear eyes. She comprehended Jurgen, and yet loved him: though I for one,
with all my cleverness, cannot do either of these things. None the less, in order to do the
manly thing, in order to pleasure a woman,—and a married woman, too!—I flung away the
little gold cross which was all that remained to me of my mother: and since then, St. Peter, the
illusions of sentiment have given me a woefully wide berth. So I shall relinquish Heaven to
seek a cross."

"That has been done before, Jurgen, and I doubt if much good came of it."

"Heyday, and did it not lead to the eternal glory of the first and greatest of the popes? It seems
to me, sir, that you have either very little memory or very little gratitude, and I am tempted to
crow in your face."

"Why, now you talk like a cherub, Jurgen, and you ought to have better manners. Do you
suppose that we Apostles enjoy hearing jokes made about the Church?"

"Well, it is true, St. Peter, that you founded the Church—"

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"Now, there you go again! That is what those patronizing seraphim and those impish cherubs
are always telling us. You see, we Twelve sit together in Heaven, each on his white throne:
and we behold everything that happens on Earth. Now from our station there has been no
ignoring the growth and doings of what you might loosely call Christianity. And sometimes
that which we see makes us very uncomfortable, Jurgen. Especially as just then some cherub
is sure to flutter by, in a broad grin, and chuckle, 'But you started it.' And we did; I cannot
deny that in a way we did. Yet really we never anticipated anything of this sort, and it is not
fair to tease us about it."

"Indeed, St. Peter, now I think of it, you ought to be held responsible for very little that has
been said or done in the shadow of a steeple. For as I remember it, you Twelve attempted to
convert a world to the teachings of Jesus: and good intentions ought to be respected, however
drolly they may turn out."

It was apparent this sympathy was grateful to the old Saint, for he was moved to a more
confidential tone. Meditatively he stroked his long white beard, then said with indignation: "If
only they would not claim sib with us we could stand it: but as it is, for centuries we have felt
like fools. It is particularly embarrassing for me, of course, being on the wicket; for to cap it
all, Jurgen, the little wretches die, and come to Heaven impudent as sparrows, and expect me
to let them in! From their thumbscrewings, and their auto-da-fés, and from their massacres,
and patriotic sermons, and holy wars, and from every manner of abomination, they come to
me, smirking. And millions upon millions of them, Jurgen! There is no form of cruelty or
folly that has not come to me for praise, and no sort of criminal idiot who has not claimed
fellowship with me, who was an Apostle and a gentleman. Why, Jurgen, you may not believe
it, but there was an eminent bishop came to me only last week in the expectation that I was
going to admit him,—and I with the full record of his work for temperance, all fairly written
out and in my hand!"

Now Jurgen was surprised. "But temperance is surely a virtue, St.

Peter."

"Ah, but his notion of temperance! and his filthy ravings to my face, as though he were
talking in some church or other! Why, the slavering little blasphemer! to my face he spoke
against the first of my Master's miracles, and against the last injunction which was laid upon
us Twelve, spluttering that the wine was unfermented! To me he said this, look you, Jurgen!
to me, who drank of that noble wine at Cana and equally of that sustaining wine we had in the
little upper room in Jerusalem when the hour of trial was near and our Master would have us
at our best! With me, who have since tasted of that unimaginable wine which the Master
promised us in His kingdom, the busy wretch would be arguing! and would have convinced
me, in the face of all my memories, that my Master, Who was a Man among men, was
nourished by such thin swill as bred this niggling brawling wretch to plague me!"

"Well, but indeed, St. Peter, there is no denying that wine is often misused."

"So he informed me, Jurgen. And I told him by that argument he would prohibit the making
of bishops, for reasons he would find in the mirror: and that, remembering what happened at
the Crucifixion, he would clap every lumber dealer into jail. So they took him away still
slavering," said St. Peter, wearily. "He was threatening to have somebody else elected in my
place when I last heard him: but that was only old habit."

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"I do not think, however, that I encountered any such bishop, sir, down yonder."

"In the Hell of your fathers? Oh, no: your fathers meant well, but their notions were limited.
No, we have quite another eternal home for these blasphemers, in a region that was fitted out
long ago, when the need grew pressing to provide a place for zealous Churchmen."

"And who devised this place, St. Peter?"

"As a very special favor, we Twelve to whom is imputed the beginning and the patronizing of
such abominations were permitted to design and furnish this place. And, of course, we put it
in charge of our former confrère, Judas. He seemed the appropriate person. Equally of course,
we put a very special roof upon it, the best imitation which we could contrive of the War
Roof, so that none of those grinning cherubs could see what long reward it was we Twelve
who founded Christianity had contrived for these blasphemers."

"Well, doubtless that was wise."

"Ah, and if we Twelve had our way there would be just such another roof kept always over
Earth. For the slavering madman has left a many like him clamoring and spewing about the
churches that were named for us Twelve, and in the pulpits of the churches that were named
for us: and we find it embarrassing. It is the doctrine of Mahound they splutter, and not any
doctrine that we ever preached or even heard of: and they ought to say so fairly, instead of
libeling us who were Apostles and gentlemen. But thus it is that the rascals make free with
our names: and the cherubs keep track of these antics, and poke fun at us. So that it is not all
pleasure, this being a Holy Apostle in Heaven, Jurgen, though once we Twelve were happy
enough." And St. Peter sighed.

"One thing I did not understand, sir: and that was when you spoke just now of the War Roof."

"It is a stone roof, made of the two tablets handed down at Sinai, which God fits over Earth
whenever men go to war. For He is merciful: and many of us here remember that once upon a
time we were men and women. So when men go to war God screens the sight of what they do,
because He wishes to be merciful to us."

"That must prevent, however, the ascent of all prayers that are made in war-time."

"Why, but, of course, that is the roof's secondary purpose," replied St. Peter. "What else
would you expect when the Master's teachings are being flouted? Rumors get through,
though, somehow, and horribly preposterous rumors. For instance, I have actually heard that
in war-time prayers are put up to the Lord God to back His favorites and take part in the
murdering. Not," said the good Saint, in haste, "that I would believe even a Christian bishop
to be capable of such blasphemy: I merely want to show you, Jurgen, what wild stories get
about. Still, I remember, back in Cappadocia—" And then St. Peter slapped his thigh. "But
would you keep me gossiping here forever, Jurgen, with the Souls lining up at the main
entrance like ants that swarm to molasses! Come, out of Heaven with you, Jurgen! and back
to whatever place you imagine will restore to you your own proper illusions! and let me be
returning to my duties."

"Well, then, St. Peter, I imagine Amneran Heath, where I flung away my mother's last gift to
me."

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"And Amneran Heath it is," said St. Peter, as he thrust Jurgen through the small private door
that was carved with fishes in bas-relief.

And Jurgen saw that the Saint spoke truthfully.

43.

Postures before a Shadow

Thus Jurgen stood again upon Amneran Heath. And again it was Walburga's Eve, when
almost anything is rather more than likely to happen: and the low moon was bright, so that the
shadow of Jurgen was long and thin. And Jurgen searched for the gold cross that he had worn
through motives of sentiment, but he could not find it, nor did he ever recover it: but barberry
bushes and the thorns of barberry bushes he found in great plenty as he searched vainly. All
the while that he searched, the shirt of Nessus glittered in the moonlight, and the shadow of
Jurgen streamed long and thin, and every movement that was made by Jurgen the shadow
parodied. And as always, it was the shadow of a lean woman, with her head wrapped in a
towel.

Now Jurgen regarded this shadow, and to Jurgen it was abhorrent.

"Oh, Mother Sereda," says he, "for a whole year your shadow has dogged me. Many lands we
have visited, and many sights we have seen: and at the end all that we have done is a tale that
is told: and it is a tale that does not matter. So I stand where I stood at the beginning of my
foiled journeying. The gift you gave me has availed me nothing: and I do not care whether I
be young or old: and I have lost all that remained to me of my mother and of my mother's
love, and I have betrayed my mother's pride in me, and I am weary."

Now a little whispering gathered upon the ground, as though dead leaves were moving there:
and the whispering augmented (because this was upon Walburga's Eve, when almost anything
is rather more than likely to happen), and the whispering became the ghost of a voice.

"You flattered me very cunningly, Jurgen, for you are a monstrous clever fellow." This it was
that the voice said drily.

"A number of people might say that with tolerable justice," Jurgen declared: "and yet I guess
who speaks. As for flattering you, godmother, I was only joking that day in Glathion: in fact, I
was careful to explain as much, the moment I noticed your shadow seemed interested in my
idle remarks and was writing them all down in a notebook. Oh, no, I can assure you I
trafficked quite honestly, and have dealt fairly everywhere. For the rest, I really am very
clever: it would be foolish of me to deny it."

"Vain fool!" said the voice of Mother Sereda.

Jurgen replied: "It may be that I am vain. But it is certain that I am clever. And even more
certain is the fact that I am weary. For, look you, in the tinsel of my borrowed youth I have
gone romancing through the world; and into lands unvisited by other men have I ventured,

163
playing at spillikins with women and gear and with the welfare of kingdoms; and into Hell
have I fallen, and into Heaven have I climbed, and into the place of the Lord God Himself
have I crept stealthily: and nowhere have I found what I desired. Nor do I know what my
desire is, even now. But I know that it is not possible for me to become young again, whatever
I may appear to others."

"Indeed, Jurgen, youth has passed out of your heart, beyond the reach of Léshy: and the
nearest you can come to regaining youth is to behave childishly."

"O godmother, but do give rein to your better instincts and all that sort of thing, and speak
with me more candidly! Come now, dear lady, there should be no secrets between you and
me. In Leukê you were reported to be Cybelê, the great Res Dea, the mistress of every
tangible thing. In Cocaigne they spoke of you as Æsred. And at Cameliard Merlin called you
Adères, dark Mother of the Little Gods. Well, but at your home in the forest, where I first had
the honor of making your acquaintance, godmother, you told me you were Sereda, who takes
the color out of things, and controls all Wednesdays. Now these anagrams bewilder me, and I
desire to know you frankly for what you are."

"It may be that I am all these. Meanwhile I bleach, and sooner or later I bleach everything. It
may be that some day, Jurgen, I shall even take the color out of a fool's conception of
himself."

"Yes, yes! but just between ourselves, godmother, is it not this shadow of you that prevents
my entering, quite, into the appropriate emotion, the spirit of the occasion, as one might say,
and robs my life of the zest which other persons apparently get out of living? Come now, you
know it is! Well, and for my part, godmother, I love a jest as well as any man breathing, but I
do prefer to have it intelligible."

"Now, let me tell you something plainly, Jurgen!" Mother Sereda cleared her invisible throat,
and began to speak rather indignantly.

*****

"Well, godmother, if you will pardon my frankness, I do not think it is quite nice to talk about
such things, and certainly not with so much candor. However, dismissing these considerations
of delicacy, let us revert to my original question. You have given me youth and all the
appurtenances of youth: and therewith you have given, too, in your joking way—which
nobody appreciates more heartily than I,—a shadow that renders all things not quite
satisfactory, not wholly to be trusted, not to be met with frankness. Now—as you understand,
I hope,—I concede the jest, I do not for a moment deny it is a master-stroke of humor. But,
after all, just what exactly is the point of it? What does it mean?"

"It may be that there is no meaning anywhere. Could you face that interpretation, Jurgen?"

"No," said Jurgen: "I have faced god and devil, but that I will not face."

"No more would I who have so many names face that. You jested with me. So I jest with you.
Probably Koshchei jests with all of us. And he, no doubt—even Koshchei who made things as
they are,—is in turn the butt of some larger jest."

164
"He may be, certainly," said Jurgen: "yet, on the other hand—"

"About these matters I do not know. How should I? But I think that all of us take part in a
moving and a shifting and a reasoned using of the things which are Koshchei's, a using such
as we do not comprehend, and are not fit to comprehend."

"That is possible," said Jurgen: "but, none the less—!"

"It is as a chessboard whereon the pieces move diversely: the knights leaping sidewise, and
the bishops darting obliquely, and the rooks charging straightforward, and the pawns
laboriously hobbling from square to square, each at the player's will. There is no discernible
order, all to the onlooker is manifestly in confusion: but to the player there is a meaning in the
disposition of the pieces."

"I do not deny it: still, one must grant—"

"And I think it is as though each of the pieces, even the pawns, had a chessboard of his own
which moves as he is moved, and whereupon he moves the pieces to suit his will, in the very
moment wherein he is moved willy-nilly."

"You may be right: yet, even so—"

"And Koshchei who directs this infinite moving of puppets may well be the futile harried king
in some yet larger game."

"Now, certainly I cannot contradict you: but, at the same time—!"

"So goes this criss-cross multitudinous moving as far as thought can reach: and beyond that
the moving goes. All moves. All moves uncomprehendingly, and to the sound of laughter. For
all moves in consonance with a higher power that understands the meaning of the movement.
And each moves the pieces before him in consonance with his ability. So the game is endless
and ruthless: and there is merriment overhead, but it is very far away."

"Nobody is more willing to concede that these are handsome fancies, Mother Sereda. But they
make my head ache. Moreover, two people are needed to play chess, and your hypothesis
does not provide anybody with an antagonist. Lastly, and above all, how do I know there is a
word of truth in your high-sounding fancies?"

"How can any of us know anything? And what is Jurgen, that his knowing or his not knowing
should matter to anybody?"

Jurgen slapped his hands together. "Hah, Mother Sereda!" says he, "but now I have you. It is
that, precisely that damnable question, which your shadow has been whispering to me from
the beginning of our companionship. And I am through with you. I will have no more of your
gifts, which are purchased at the cost of hearing that whisper. I am resolved henceforward to
be as other persons, and to believe implicitly in my own importance."

"But have you any reason to blame me? I restored to you your youth. And when, just at the
passing of that replevined Wednesday which I loaned, you rebuked the Countess Dorothy

165
very edifyingly, I was pleased to find a man so chaste: and therefore I continued my grant of
youth—"

"Ah, yes!" said Jurgen: "then that was the way of it! You were pleased, just in the nick of
time, by my virtuous rebuke of the woman who tempted me. Yes, to be sure. Well, well!
come now, you know, that is very gratifying."

"None the less your chastity, however unusual, has proved a barren virtue. For what have you
made of a year of youth? Why, each thing that every man of forty-odd by ordinary regrets
having done, you have done again, only more swiftly, compressing the follies of a quarter of a
century into the space of one year. You have sought bodily pleasures. You have made jests.
You have asked many idle questions. And you have doubted all things, including Jurgen. In
the face of your memories, in the face of what you probably considered cordial repentance,
you have made of your second youth just nothing. Each thing that every man of forty-odd
regrets having done, you have done again."

"Yes: it is undeniable that I re-married," said Jurgen. "Indeed, now I think of it, there was
Anaïtis and Chloris and Florimel, so that I have married thrice in one year. But I am largely
the victim of heredity, you must remember, since it was without consulting me that Smoit of
Glathion perpetuated his characteristics."

"Your marriages I do not criticize, for each was in accordance with the custom of the country:
the law is always respectable; and matrimony is an honorable estate, and has a steadying
influence, in all climes. It is true my shadow reports several other affairs—"

"Oh, godmother, and what is this you are telling me!"

"There was a Yolande and a Guenevere"—the voice of Mother Sereda appeared to read from
a memorandum,—"and a Sylvia, who was your own step-grandmother, and a Stella, who was
a yogini, whatever that may be; and a Phyllis and a Dolores, who were the queens of Hell and
Philistia severally. Moreover, you visited the Queen of Pseudopolis in circumstances which
could not but have been unfavorably viewed by her husband. Oh, yes, you have committed
follies with divers women."

"Follies, it may be, but no crimes, not even a misdemeanor. Look you, Mother Sereda, does
your shadow report in all this year one single instance of misconduct with a woman?" says
Jurgen, sternly.

"No, dearie, as I joyfully concede. The very worst reported is that matters were sometimes
assuming a more or less suspicious turn when you happened to put out the light. And, of
course, shadows cannot exist in absolute darkness."

"See now," said Jurgen, "what a thing it is to be careful! Careful,

I mean, in one's avoidance of even an appearance of evil. In what
other young man of twenty-one may you look to find such continence?
And yet you grumble!"

"I do not complain because you have lived chastely. That pleases me, and is the single reason
you have been spared this long."

166
"Oh, godmother, and whatever are you telling me!"

"Yes, dearie, had you once sinned with a woman in the youth I gave, you would have been
punished instantly and very terribly. For I was always a great believer in chastity, and in the
old days I used to insure the chastity of all my priests in the only way that is infallible."

"In fact, I noticed something of the sort as you passed in Leukê."

"And over and over again I have been angered by my shadow's reports, and was about to
punish you, my poor dearie, when I would remember that you held fast to the rarest of all
virtues in a man, and that my shadow reported no irregularities with women. And that would
please me, I acknowledge: so I would let matters run on a while longer. But it is a shiftless
business, dearie, for you are making nothing of the youth I restored to you. And had you a
thousand lives the result would be the same."

"Nevertheless, I am a monstrous clever fellow." Jurgen chuckled here.

"You are, instead, a palterer; and your life, apart from that fine song you made about me, is
sheer waste."

"Ah, if you come to that, there was a brown man in the Druid forest, who showed me a very
curious spectacle, last June. And I am not apt to lose the memory of what he showed me,
whatever you may say, and whatever I may have said to him."

"This and a many other curious spectacles you have seen and have made nothing of, in the
false youth I gave you. And therefore my shadow was angry that in the revelation of so much
futile trifling I did not take away the youth I gave—as I have half a mind to do, even now, I
warn you, dearie, for there is really no putting up with you. But I spared you because of my
shadow's grudging reports as to your continence, which is a virtue that we of the Léshy
peculiarly revere."

Now Jurgen considered. "Eh?—then it is within your ability to make me old again, or rather,
an excellently preserved person of forty-odd, or say, thirty-nine, by the calendar, but not
looking it by a long shot? Such threats are easily voiced. But how can I know that you are
speaking the truth?"

"How can any of us know anything? And what is Jurgen, that his knowing or his not knowing
should matter to anybody?"

"Ah, godmother, and must you still be mumbling that! Come now, forget you are a woman,
and be reasonable! You exercise the fair and ancient privilege of kinship by calling me harsh
names, but it is in the face of this plain fact: I got from you what never man has got before. I
am a monstrous clever fellow, say what you will: for already I have cajoled you out of a year
of youth, a year wherein I have neither builded nor robbed any churches, but have had upon
the whole a very pleasant time. Ah, you may murmur platitudes and threats and axioms and
anything else which happens to appeal to you: the fact remains that I got what I wanted. Yes, I
cajoled you very neatly into giving me eternal youth. For, of course, poor dear, you are now
powerless to take it back: and so I shall retain, in spite of you, the most desirable possession
in life."

167
"I gave, in honor of your chastity, which is the one commendable trait that you possess—"

"My chastity, I grant you, is remarkable. Nevertheless, you really gave because I was the
cleverer."

"—And what I give I can retract at will!"

"Come, come, you know very well you can do nothing of the sort. I refer you to Sævius
Nicanor. None of the Léshy can ever take back the priceless gift of youth. That is explicitly
proved, in the Appendix."

"Now, but I am becoming angry—"

"To the contrary, as I perceive with real regret, you are becoming ridiculous, since you
dispute the authority of Sævius Nicanor."

"—And I will show you—oh, but I will show you, you jackanapes!"

"Ah, but come now! keep your temper in hand! All fairly erudite persons know you cannot do
the thing you threaten: and it is notorious that the weakest wheel of every cart creaks loudest.
So do you cultivate a judicious taciturnity! for really nobody is going to put up with petulance
in an ugly and toothless woman of your age, as I tell you for your own good."

It always vexes people to be told anything for their own good. So what followed happened
quickly. A fleece of cloud slipped over the moon. The night seemed bitterly cold, for the
space of a heart-beat, and then matters were comfortable enough. The moon emerged in its
full glory, and there in front of Jurgen was the proper shadow of Jurgen. He dazedly regarded
his hands, and they were the hands of an elderly person. He felt the calves of his legs, and
they were shrunken. He patted himself centrally, and underneath the shirt of Nessus the
paunch of Jurgen was of impressive dimension. In other respects he had abated.

"Then, too, I have forgotten something very suddenly," reflected Jurgen. "It was something I
wanted to forget. Ah, yes! but what was it that I wanted to forget? Why, there was a brown
man—with something unusual about his feet—He talked nonsense and behaved idiotically in
a Druid forest—He was probably insane. No, I do not remember what it was that I have
forgotten: but I am sure it has gnawed away in the back of my mind, like a small ruinous
maggot: and that, after all, it was of no importance."

Aloud he wailed, in his most moving tones: "Oh, Mother Sereda, I did not mean to anger you.
It was not fair to snap me up on a thoughtless word! Have mercy upon me, Mother Sereda, for
I would never have alluded to your being so old and plain-looking if I had known you were so
vain!"

But Mother Sereda did not appear to be softened by this form of entreaty, for nothing
happened.

"Well, then, thank goodness, that is over!" says Jurgen, to himself. "Of course, she may be
listening still, and it is dangerous jesting with the Léshy: but really they do not seem to be
very intelligent. Otherwise this irritable maunderer would have known that, everything else
apart, I am heartily tired of the responsibilities of youth under any such constant surveillance.

168
Now all is changed: there is no call to avoid a suspicion of wrong doing by transacting all
philosophical investigations in the dark: and I am no longer distrustful of lamps or candles, or
even of sunlight. Old body, you are as grateful as old slippers, to a somewhat wearied man:
and for the second time I have tricked Mother Sereda rather neatly. My knowledge of Lisa,
however painfully acquired, is a decided advantage in dealing with anything that is feminine."

Then Jurgen regarded the black cave. "And that reminds me it still would be, I suppose, the
manly thing to continue my quest for Lisa. The intimidating part is that if I go into this cave
for the third time I shall almost certainly get her back. By every rule of tradition the third
attempt is invariably successful. I wonder if I want Lisa back?"

Jurgen meditated: and he shook a grizzled head. "I do not definitely know. She was an
excellent cook. There were pies that I shall always remember with affection. And she meant
well, poor dear! But then if it was really her head that I sliced off last May—or if her temper
is not any better—Still, it is an interminable nuisance washing your own dishes: and I appear
to have no aptitude whatever for sewing and darning things. But, to the other hand, Lisa nags
so: and she does not understand me—"

Jurgen shrugged. "See-saw! the argument for and against might run on indefinitely. Since I
have no real preference, I will humor prejudice by doing the manly thing. For it seems only
fair: and besides, it may fail after all."

Then he went into the cave for the third time.

44.

In the Manager's Office

The tale tells that all was dark there, and Jurgen could see no one. But the cave stretched
straight forward, and downward, and at the far end was a glow of light. Jurgen went on and
on, and so came to the place where Nessus had lain in wait for Jurgen. Again Jurgen stooped,
and crawled through the opening in the cave's wall, and so came to where lamps were burning
upon tall iron stands. Now, one by one, these lamps were going out, and there were now no
women here: instead, Jurgen trod inch deep in fine white ashes, leaving the print of his feet
upon them.

He went forward as the cave stretched. He came to a sharp turn in the cave, with the failing
lamplight now behind him, so that his shadow confronted Jurgen, blurred but unarguable. It
was the proper shadow of a commonplace and elderly pawnbroker, and Jurgen regarded it
with approval.

Jurgen came then into a sort of underground chamber, from the roof of which was suspended
a kettle of quivering red flames. Facing him was a throne, and back of this were rows of
benches: but here, too, was nobody. Resting upright against the vacant throne was a triangular
white shield: and when Jurgen looked more closely he could see there was writing upon it.
Jurgen carried this shield as close as he could to the kettle of flames, for his eyesight was now

169
not very good, and besides, the flames in the kettle were burning low: and Jurgen deciphered
the message that was written upon the shield, in black and red letters.

"Absent upon important affairs," it said. "Will be back in an hour."

And it was signed, "Thragnar R."

"I wonder now for whom King Thragnar left this notice?" reflected Jurgen—"certainly not for
me. And I wonder, too, if he left it here a year ago or only this evening? And I wonder if it
was Thragnar's head I removed in the black and silver pavilion? Ah, well, there are a number
of things to wonder about in this incredible cave, wherein the lights are dying out, as I observe
with some discomfort. And I think the air grows chillier."

Then Jurgen looked to his right, at the stairway which he and Guenevere had ascended; and he
shook his head. "Glathion is no fit resort for a respectable pawnbroker. Chivalry is for young
people, like the late Duke of Logreus. But I must get out of this place, for certainly there is in
the air a deathlike chill."

So Jurgen went on down the aisle between the rows of benches wherefrom Thragnar's
warriors had glared at Jurgen when he was last in this part of the cave. At the end of the aisle
was a wooden door painted white. It was marked, in large black letters, "Office of the
Manager—Keep Out." So Jurgen opened this door.

He entered into a notable place illuminated by six cresset lights. These lights were the power
of Assyria, and Nineveh, and Egypt, and Rome, and Athens, and Byzantium: six other
cressets stood ready there, but fire had not yet been laid to these. Back of all was a large
blackboard with much figuring on it in red chalk. And here, too, was the black gentleman,
who a year ago had given his blessing to Jurgen, for speaking civilly of the powers of
darkness. To-night the black gentleman wore a black dressing-gown that was embroidered
with all the signs of the Zodiac. He sat at a table, the top of which was curiously inlaid with
thirty pieces of silver: and he was copying entries from one big book into another. He looked
up from his writing pleasantly enough, and very much as though he were expecting Jurgen.

"You find me busy with the Stellar Accounts," says he, "which appear to be in a fearful
muddle. But what more can I do for you, Jurgen?—for you, my friend, who spoke a kind
word for things as they are, and furnished me with one or two really very acceptable
explanations as to why I had created evil?"

"I have been thinking, Prince—" begins the pawnbroker.

"And why do you call me a prince, Jurgen?"

"I do not know, sir. But I suspect that my quest is ended, and that you are Koshchei the
Deathless."

The black gentleman nodded. "Something of the sort. Koshchei, or Ardnari, or Ptha, or
Jaldalaoth, or Abraxas,—it is all one what I may be called hereabouts. My real name you
never heard: no man has ever heard my name. So that matter we need hardly go into."

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"Precisely, Prince. Well, but it is a long way that I have traveled roundabout, to win to you
who made things as they are. And it is eager I am to learn just why you made things as they
are."

Up went the black gentleman's eyebrows into regular Gothic arches. "And do you really think,
Jurgen, that I am going to explain to you why I made things as they are?"

"I fail to see, Prince, how my wanderings could have any other equitable climax."

"But, friend, I have nothing to do with justice. To the contrary, I am Koshchei who made
things as they are."

Jurgen saw the point. "Your reasoning, Prince, is unanswerable. I bow to it. I should even
have foreseen it. Do you tell me, then, what thing is this which I desire, and cannot find in any
realm that man has known nor in any kingdom that man has imagined."

Koshchei was very patient. "I am not, I confess, anything like as well acquainted with what
has been going on in this part of the universe as I ought to be. Of course, events are reported
to me, in a general sort of way, and some of my people were put in charge of these stars, a
while back: but they appear to have run the constellation rather shiftlessly. Still, I have
recently been figuring on the matter, and I do not despair of putting the suns hereabouts to
some profitable use, in one way or another, after all. Of course, it is not as if it were an
important constellation. But I am an Economist, and I dislike waste—"

Then he was silent for an instant, not greatly worried by the problem, as Jurgen could see, but
mildly vexed by his inability to divine the solution out of hand. Presently Koshchei said:

"And in the mean time, Jurgen, I am afraid I cannot answer your question on the spur of the
moment. You see, there appears to have been a great number of human beings, as you call
them, evolved upon—oh, yes!—upon Earth. I have the approximate figures over yonder, but
they would hardly interest you. And the desires of each one of these human beings seem to
have been multitudinous and inconstant. Yet, Jurgen, you might appeal to the local
authorities, for I remember appointing some, at the request of a very charming old lady."

"In fine, you do not know what thing it is that I desire," said
Jurgen, much surprised.

"Why, no, I have not the least notion," replied Koshchei. "Still, I suspect that if you got it you
would protest it was a most unjust affliction. So why keep worrying about it?"

Jurgen demanded, almost indignantly: "But have you not then, Prince, been guiding all my
journeying during this last year?"

"Now, really, Jurgen, I remember our little meeting very pleasantly. And I endeavored
forthwith to dispose of your most urgent annoyance. But I confess I have had one or two other
matters upon my mind since then. You see, Jurgen, the universe is rather large, and the
running of it is a considerable tax upon my time. I cannot manage to see anything like as
much of my friends as I would be delighted to see of them. And so perhaps, what with one
thing and another, I have not given you my undivided attention all through the year—not
every moment of it, that is."

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"Ah, Prince, I see that you are trying to spare my feelings, and it is kind of you. But the
upshot is that you do not know what I have been doing, and you did not care what I was
doing. Dear me! but this is a very sad come-down for my pride."

"Yes, but reflect how remarkable a possession is that pride of yours, and how I wonder at it,
and how I envy it in vain,—I, who have nothing anywhere to contemplate save my own
handiwork. Do you consider, Jurgen, what I would give if I could find, anywhere in this
universe of mine, anything which would make me think myself one-half so important as you
think Jurgen is!" And Koshchei sighed.

But instead, Jurgen considered the humiliating fact that Koshchei had not been supervising
Jurgen's travels. And of a sudden Jurgen perceived that this Koshchei the Deathless was not
particularly intelligent. Then Jurgen wondered why he should ever have expected Koshchei to
be intelligent? Koshchei was omnipotent, as men estimate omnipotence: but by what course
of reasoning had people come to believe that Koshchei was clever, as men estimate
cleverness? The fact that, to the contrary, Koshchei seemed well-meaning, but rather slow of
apprehension and a little needlessly fussy, went far toward explaining a host of matters which
had long puzzled Jurgen. Cleverness was, of course, the most admirable of all traits: but
cleverness was not at the top of things, and never had been. "Very well, then!" says Jurgen,
with a shrug; "let us come to my third request and to the third thing that I have been seeking.
Here, though, you ought to be more communicative. For I have been thinking, Prince, my
wife's society is perhaps becoming to you a trifle burdensome."

"Eh, sirs, I am not unaccustomed to women. I may truthfully say that as I find them, so do I
take them. And I was willing to oblige a fellow rebel."

"But I do not know, Prince, that I have ever rebelled. Far from it,
I have everywhere conformed with custom."

"Your lips conformed, but all the while your mind made verses,
Jurgen. And poetry is man's rebellion against being what he is."

"—And besides, you call me a fellow rebel. Now, how can it be possible that Koshchei, who
made all things as they are, should be a rebel? unless, indeed, there is some power above even
Koshchei. I would very much like to have that explained to me, sir."

"No doubt: but then why should I explain it to you, Jurgen?" says the black gentleman.

"Well, be that as it may, Prince! But—to return a little—I do not know that you have obliged
me in carrying off my wife. I mean, of course, my first wife."

"Why, Jurgen," says the black gentleman, in high astonishment, "do you mean to tell me that
you want the plague of your life back again!"

"I do not know about that either, sir. She was certainly very hard to live with. On the other
hand, I had become used to having her about. I rather miss her, now that I am again an elderly
person. Indeed, I believe I have missed Lisa all along."

The black gentleman meditated. "Come, friend," he says, at last. "You were a poet of some
merit. You displayed a promising talent which might have been cleverly developed, in any

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suitable environment. Now, I repeat, I am an Economist: I dislike waste: and you were never
fitted to be anything save a poet. The trouble was"—and Koshchei lowered his voice to an
impressive whisper,—"the trouble was your wife did not understand you. She hindered your
art. Yes, that precisely sums it up: she interfered with your soul-development, and your
instinctive need of self-expression, and all that sort of thing. You are very well rid of this
woman, who converted a poet into a pawnbroker. To the other side, as is with point observed
somewhere or other, it is not good for man to live alone. But, friend, I have just the wife for
you."

"Well, Prince," said Jurgen, "I am willing to taste any drink once."

So Koshchei waved his hand: and there, quick as winking, was the loveliest lady that Jurgen
had ever imagined.

45.

The Faith of Guenevere

Very fair was this woman to look upon, with her shining gray eyes and small smiling lips, a
fairer woman might no man boast of having seen. And she regarded Jurgen graciously, with
her cheeks red and white, very lovely to observe. She was clothed in a robe of flame-colored
silk, and about her neck was a collar of red gold. And she told him, quite as though she spoke
with a stranger, that she was Queen Guenevere.

"But Lancelot is turned monk, at Glastonbury: and Arthur is gone into Avalon," says she:
"and I will be your wife if you will have me, Jurgen."

And Jurgen saw that Guenevere did not know him at all, and that even his name to her was
meaningless. There were a many ways of accounting for this: but he put aside the unflattering
explanation that she had simply forgotten all about Jurgen, in favor of the reflection that the
Jurgen she had known was a scapegrace of twenty-one. Whereas he was now a staid and
knowledgeable pawnbroker.

And it seemed to Jurgen that he had never really loved any woman save Guenevere, the
daughter of Gogyrvan Gawr, and the pawnbroker was troubled.

"For again you make me think myself a god," says Jurgen. "Madame Guenevere, when man
recognized himself to be Heaven's vicar upon earth, it was to serve and to glorify and to
protect you and your radiant sisterhood that man consecrated his existence. You were
beautiful, and you were frail; you were half goddess and half bric-à-brac. Ohimé, I recognize
the call of chivalry, and my heart-strings resound: yet, for innumerable reasons, I hesitate to
take you for my wife, and to concede myself your appointed protector, responsible as such to
Heaven. For one matter, I am not altogether sure that I am Heaven's vicar here upon earth.
Certainly the God of Heaven said nothing to me about it, and I cannot but suspect that
Omniscience would have selected some more competent representative."

"It is so written, Messire Jurgen."

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Jurgen shrugged. "I too, in the intervals of business, have written much that is beautiful. Very
often my verses were so beautiful that I would have given anything in the world in exchange
for somewhat less sure information as to the author's veracity. Ah, no, madame, desire and
knowledge are pressing me so sorely that, between them, I dare not love you, and still I
cannot help it!"

Then Jurgen gave a little wringing gesture with his hands. His smile was not merry; and it
seemed pitiful that Guenevere should not remember him.

"Madame and queen," says Jurgen, "once long and long ago there was a man who worshipped
all women. To him they were one and all of sacred, sweet intimidating beauty. He shaped
sonorous rhymes of this, in praise of the mystery and sanctity of women. Then a count's tow-
headed daughter whom he loved, with such love as it puzzles me to think of now, was shown
to him just as she was, as not even worthy of hatred. The goddess stood revealed, unveiled,
and displaying in all things such mediocrity as he fretted to find in himself. That was
unfortunate. For he began to suspect that women, also, are akin to their parents; and are no
wiser, and no more subtle, and no more immaculate, than the father who begot them. Madame
and queen, it is not good for any man to suspect this."

"It is certainly not the conduct of a chivalrous person, nor of an authentic poet," says Queen
Guenevere. "And yet your eyes are big with tears."

"Hah, madame," he replied, "but it amuses me to weep for a dead man with eyes that once
were his. For he was a dear lad before he went rampaging through the world, in the pride of
his youth and in the armor of his hurt. And songs he made for the pleasure of kings, and
sword play he made for the pleasure of men, and a whispering he made for the pleasure of
women, in places where renown was, and where he trod boldly, giving pleasure to everybody
in those fine days. But for all his laughter, he could not understand his fellows, nor could he
love them, nor could he detect anything in aught they said or did save their exceeding folly."

"Why, man's folly is indeed very great, Messire Jurgen, and the doings of this world are often
inexplicable: and so does it come about that man can be saved by faith alone."

"Ah, but this boy had lost his fellows' cordial common faith in the importance of what use
they made of half-hours and months and years; and because a jill-flirt had opened his eyes so
that they saw too much, he had lost faith in the importance of his own actions, too. There was
a little time of which the passing might be made not unendurable; beyond gaped unpredictable
darkness; and that was all there was of certainty anywhere. Meanwhile, he had the loan of a
brain which played with ideas, and a body that went delicately down pleasant ways. And so
he was never the mate for you, dear Guenevere, because he had not sufficient faith in
anything at all, not even in his own deductions."

Now said Queen Guenevere: "Farewell to you, then, Jurgen, for it is I that am leaving you
forever. I was to them that served me the lovely and excellent masterwork of God: in
Caerleon and Northgalis and at Joyeuse Garde might men behold me with delight, because,
men said, to view me was to comprehend the power and kindliness of their Creator. Very
beautiful was Iseult, and the face of Luned sparkled like a moving gem; Morgaine and Enid
and Viviane and shrewd Nimuë were lovely, too; and the comeliness of Ettarde exalted the
beholder like a proud music: these, going statelily about Arthur's hall, seemed Heaven's finest
craftsmanship until the Queen came to her daïs, as the moon among glowing stars: men then

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affirmed that God in making Guenevere had used both hands. And it is I that am leaving you
forever. My beauty was no human white and red, said they, but an explicit sign of Heaven's
might. In approaching me men thought of God, because in me, they said, His splendor was
incarnate. That which I willed was neither right nor wrong: it was divine. This thing it was
that the knights saw in me; this surety, as to the power and kindliness of their great Father, it
was of which the chevaliers of yesterday were conscious in beholding me, and of men's need
to be worthy of such parentage; and it is I that am leaving you forever."

Said Jurgen: "I could not see all this in you, not quite all this, because of a shadow that
followed me. Now it is too late, and this is a sorrowful thing which is happening. I am become
as a rudderless boat that goes from wave to wave: I am turned to unfertile dust which a
whirlwind makes coherent, and presently lets fall. And so, farewell to you, Queen Guenevere,
for it is a sorrowful thing and a very unfair thing that is happening."

Thus he cried farewell to the daughter of Gogyrvan Gawr. And instantly she vanished like the
flame of a blown out altar-candle.

46.

The Desire of Anaïtis

And again Koshchei waved his hand. Then came to Jurgen a woman who was strangely gifted
and perverse. Her dark eyes glittered: upon her head was a net-work of red coral, with
branches radiating downward, and her tunic was of two colors, being shot with black and
crimson curiously mingled.

And Anaïtis also had forgotten Jurgen, or else she did not recognize him in this man of forty
and something: and again belief awoke in Jurgen's heart that this was the only woman whom
Jurgen had really loved, as he listened to Anaïtis and to her talk of marvelous things.

Of the lore of Thaïs she spoke, and of the schooling of Sappho, and of the secrets of Rhodopê,
and of the mourning for Adonis: and the refrain of all her talking was not changed. "For we
have but a little while to live, and none knows his fate thereafter. So that a man possesses
nothing certainly save a brief loan of his own body: and yet the body of man is capable of
much curious pleasure. As thus and thus," says she. And the bright-colored pensive woman
spoke with antique directness of matters that Jurgen, being no longer a scapegrace of twenty-
one, found rather embarrassing.

"Come, come!" thinks he, "but it will never do to seem provincial. I believe that I am actually
blushing."

Aloud he said: "Sweetheart, there was—why, not a half-hour since!—a youth who sought
quite zealously for the over-mastering frenzies you prattle about. But, candidly, he could not
find the flesh whose touch would rouse insanity. The lad had opportunities, too, let me tell
you! Hah, I recall with tenderness the glitter of eyes and hair, and the gay garments, and the
soft voices of those fond foolish women, even now. But he went from one pair of lips to
another, with an ardor that was always half-feigned, and with protestations which were

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conscious echoes of some romance or other. Such escapades were pleasant enough: but they
were not very serious, after all. For these things concerned his body alone: and I am more than
an edifice of viands reared by my teeth. To pretend that what my body does or endures is of
importance seems rather silly nowadays. I prefer to regard it as a necessary beast of burden
which I maintain, at considerable expense and trouble. So I shall make no more pother about
it."

But then again Queen Anaïtis spoke of marvelous things; and he listened, fair-mindedly; for
the Queen spoke now of that which was hers to share with him.

"Well, I have heard," says Jurgen, "that you have a notable residence in Cocaigne."

"But that is only a little country place, to which I sometimes repair in summer, in order to live
rustically. No, Jurgen, you must see my palaces. In Babylon I have a palace where many
abide with cords about them and burn bran for perfume, while they await that thing which is
to befall them. In Armenia I have a palace surrounded by vast gardens, where only strangers
have the right to enter: they there receive a hospitality that is more than gallant. In Paphos I
have a palace wherein is a little pyramid of white stone, very curious to see: but still more
curious is the statue in my palace at Amathus, of a bearded woman, which displays other
features that women do not possess. And in Alexandria I have a palace that is tended by
thirty-six exceedingly wise and sacred persons, and wherein it is always night: and there folk
seek for monstrous pleasures, even at the price of instant death, and win to both of these
swiftly. Everywhere my palaces stand upon high places near the sea: so they are beheld from
afar by those whom I hold dearest, my beautiful broad-chested mariners, who do not fear even
me, but know that in my palaces they will find notable employment. For I must tell you of
what is to be encountered within these places that are mine, and of how pleasantly we pass
our time there." Then she told him.

Now he listened more attentively than ever, and his eyes were narrowed, and his lips were lax
and motionless and foolish-looking, and he was deeply interested. For Anaïtis had thought of
some new diversions since their last meeting: and to Jurgen, even at forty and something, this
queen's voice was all a horrible and strange and lovely magic. "She really tempts very nicely,
too," he reflected, with a sort of pride in her.

Then Jurgen growled and shook himself, half angrily: and he tweaked the ear of Queen
Anaïtis.

"Sweetheart," says he, "you paint a glowing picture: but you are shrewd enough to borrow
your pigments from the day-dreams of inexperience. What you prattle about is not at all as
you describe it. You forget you are talking to a widely married man of varied experience.
Moreover, I shudder to think of what might happen if Lisa were to walk in unexpectedly. And
for the rest, all this to-do over nameless delights and unspeakable caresses and other
anonymous antics seems rather naïve. My ears are beset by eloquent gray hairs which plead at
closer quarters than does that fibbing little tongue of yours. And so be off with you!"

With that Queen Anaïtis smiled very cruelly, and she said: "Farewell to you, then Jurgen, for
it is I that am leaving you forever. Henceforward you must fret away much sunlight by
interminably shunning discomfort and by indulging tepid preferences. For I, and none but I,
can waken that desire which uses all of a man, and so wastes nothing, even though it leave
that favored man forever after like wan ashes in the sunlight. And with you I have no more

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concern, for it is I that am leaving you forever. Join with your graying fellows, then! and help
them to affront the clean sane sunlight, by making guilds and laws and solemn phrases
wherewith to rid the world of me. I, Anaïtis, laugh, and my heart is a wave in the sunlight. For
there is no power like my power, and no living thing which can withstand my power; and
those who deride me, as I well know, are but the dead dry husks that a wind moves, with
hissing noises, while I harvest in open sunlight. For I am the desire that uses all of a man: and
it is I that am leaving you forever."

Said Jurgen: "I could not see all this in you, not quite all this, because of a shadow that
followed me. Now it is too late, and this is a sorrowful thing which is happening. I am become
as a puzzled ghost who furtively observes the doings of loud-voiced ruddy persons: and I am
compact of weariness and apprehension, for I no longer discern what thing is I, nor what is
my desire, and I fear that I am already dead. So farewell to you, Queen Anaïtis, for this, too, is
a sorrowful thing and a very unfair thing that is happening."

Thus he cried farewell to the Sun's daughter. And all the colors of her loveliness flickered and
merged into the likeness of a tall thin flame, that aspired; and then this flame was
extinguished.

47.

The Vision of Helen

And for the third time Koshchei waved his hand. Now came to Jurgen a gold-haired woman,
clothed all in white. She was tall, and lovely and tender to regard: and hers was not the red
and white comeliness of many ladies that were famed for beauty, but rather it had the even
glow of ivory. Her nose was large and high in the bridge, her flexible mouth was not of the
smallest; and yet, whatever other persons might have said, to Jurgen this woman's
countenance was in all things perfect. And, beholding her, Jurgen kneeled.

He hid his face in her white robe: and he stayed thus, without speaking, for a long while.

"Lady of my vision," he said, and his voice broke—"there is that in you which wakes old
memories. For now assuredly I believe your father was not Dom Manuel but that ardent bird
which nestled very long ago in Leda's bosom. And now Troy's sons are all in Adês' keeping,
in the world below; fire has consumed the walls of Troy, and the years have forgotten her tall
conquerors; but still you are bringing woe on woe to hapless sufferers."

And again his voice broke. For the world seemed cheerless, and like a house that none has
lived in for a great while.

Queen Helen, the delight of gods and men, replied nothing at all, because there was no need,
inasmuch as the man who has once glimpsed her loveliness is beyond saving, and beyond the
desire of being saved.

"To-night," says Jurgen, "as once through the gray art of Phobetor, now through the will of
Koshchei, it appears that you stand within arm's reach. Hah, lady, were that possible—and I

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know very well it is not possible, whatever my senses may report,—I am not fit to mate with
your perfection. At the bottom of my heart, I no longer desire perfection. For we who are tax-
payers as well as immortal souls must live by politic evasions and formulae and catchwords
that fret away our lives as moths waste a garment; we fall insensibly to common-sense as to a
drug; and it dulls and kills whatever in us is rebellious and fine and unreasonable; and so you
will find no man of my years with whom living is not a mechanism which gnaws away time
unprompted. For within this hour I have become again a creature of use and wont; I am the
lackey of prudence and half-measures; and I have put my dreams upon an allowance. Yet
even now I love you more than I love books and indolence and flattery and the charitable
wine which cheats me into a favorable opinion of myself. What more can an old poet say? For
that reason, lady, I pray you begone, because your loveliness is a taunt which I find
unendurable."

But his voice yearned, because this was Queen Helen, the delight of gods and men, who
regarded him with grave, kind eyes. She seemed to view, as one appraises the pattern of an
unrolled carpet, every action of Jurgen's life: and she seemed, too, to wonder, without
reproach or trouble, how men could be so foolish, and of their own accord become so miry.

"Oh, I have failed my vision!" cries Jurgen. "I have failed, and I know very well that every
man must fail: and yet my shame is no less bitter. For I am transmuted by time's handling! I
shudder at the thought of living day-in and day-out with my vision! And so I will have none
of you for my wife."

Then, trembling, Jurgen raised toward his lips the hand of her who was the world's darling.

"And so farewell to you, Queen Helen! Oh, very long ago I found your beauty mirrored in a
wanton's face! and often in a woman's face I have found one or another feature wherein she
resembled you, and for the sake of it have lied to that woman glibly. And all my verses, as I
know now, were vain enchantments striving to evoke that hidden loveliness of which I knew
by dim report alone. Oh, all my life was a foiled quest of you, Queen Helen, and an unsatiated
hungering. And for a while I served my vision, honoring you with clean-handed deeds. Yes,
certainly it should be graved upon my tomb, 'Queen Helen ruled this earth while it stayed
worthy.' But that was very long ago.

"And so farewell to you, Queen Helen! Your beauty has been to me as a robber that stripped
my life of joy and sorrow, and I desire not ever to dream of your beauty any more. For I have
been able to love nobody. And I know that it is you who have prevented this, Queen Helen, at
every moment of my life since the disastrous moment when I first seemed to find your
loveliness in the face of Madame Dorothy. It is the memory of your beauty, as I then saw it
mirrored in the face of a jill-flirt, which has enfeebled me for such honest love as other men
give women; and I envy these other men. For Jurgen has loved nothing—not even you, not
even Jurgen!—quite whole-heartedly.

"And so farewell to you, Queen Helen! Hereafter I rove no more a-questing anything; instead,
I potter after hearthside comforts, and play the physician with myself, and strive painstakingly
to make old bones. And no man's notion anywhere seems worth a cup of mulled wine; and for
the sake of no notion would I endanger the routine which so hideously bores me. For I am
transmuted by time's handling; I have become the lackey of prudence and half-measures; and
it does not seem fair, but there is no help for it. So it is necessary that I now cry farewell to
you, Queen Helen: for I have failed in the service of my vision, and I deny you utterly!"

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Thus he cried farewell to the Swan's daughter: and Queen Helen vanished as a bright mist
passes, not departing swiftly, as had departed Queen Guenevere and Queen Anaïtis; and
Jurgen was alone with the black gentleman. And to Jurgen the world seemed cheerless, and
like a house that none has lived in for a great while.

48.

Candid Opinions of Dame Lisa

"Eh, sirs!" observes Koshchei the Deathless, "but some of us are certainly hard to please."
And now Jurgen was already intent to shrug off his display of emotion. "In selecting a wife,
sir," submitted Jurgen, "there are all sorts of matters to be considered—"

Then bewilderment smote him. For it occurred to Jurgen that his previous commerce with
these three women was patently unknown to Koshchei. Why, Koshchei, who made all things
as they are—Koshchei, no less—was now doing for Jurgen Koshchei's utmost: and that
utmost amounted to getting for Jurgen what Jurgen had once, with the aid of youth and
impudence, got for himself. Not even Koshchei, then, could do more for Jurgen than might be
accomplished by that youth and impudence and tendency to pry into things generally which
Jurgen had just relinquished as over-restless nuisances. Jurgen drew the inference, and
shrugged; decidedly cleverness was not at the top. However, there was no pressing need to
enlighten Koshchei, and no wisdom in attempting it.

"—For you must understand, sir," continued Jurgen, smoothly, "that, whatever the first
impulse of the moment, it was apparent to any reflective person that in the past of each of
these ladies there was much to suggest inborn inaptitude for domestic life. And I am a peace-
loving fellow, sir; nor do I hold with moral laxity, now that I am forty-odd, except, of course,
in talk when it promotes sociability, and in verse-making wherein it is esteemed as a
conventional ornament. Still, Prince, the chance I lost! I do not refer to matrimony, you
conceive. But in the presence of these famous fair ones now departed from me forever, with
what glowing words I ought to have spoken! upon a wondrous ladder of trophes, metaphors
and recondite allusions, to what stylistic heights of Asiatic prose I ought to have ascended!
and instead, I twaddled like a schoolmaster. Decidedly, Lisa is right, and I am good-for-
nothing. However," Jurgen added, hopefully, "it appeared to me that when I last saw her, a
year ago this evening, Lisa was somewhat less outspoken than usual."

"Eh, sirs, but she was under a very potent spell. I found that necessary in the interest of law
and order hereabouts. I, who made things as they are, am not accustomed to the excesses of
practical persons who are ruthlessly bent upon reforming their associates. Indeed, it is one of
the advantages of my situation that such folk do not consider things as they are, and in
consequence very rarely bother me." And the black gentleman in turn shrugged. "You will
pardon me, but I notice in my accounts that I am positively committed to color this year's
anemones to-night, and there is a rather large planetary system to be discontinued at half-past
ten. So time presses."

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"And time is inexorable. Prince, with all due respect, I fancy it is precisely this truism which
you have overlooked. You produce the most charming of women, in a determined onslaught
upon my fancy; but you forget you are displaying them to a man of forty-and-something."

"And does that make so great a difference?"

"Oh, a sad difference, Prince! For as a man gets on in life he changes in many ways. He
handles sword and lance less creditably, and does not carry as heavy a staff as he once
flourished. He takes less interest in conversation, and his flow of humor diminishes. He is not
the tireless mathematician that he was, if only because his faith in his personal endowments
slackens. He recognizes his limitations, and in consequence the unimportance of his opinions,
and indeed he recognizes the probable unimportance of all fleshly matters. So he relinquishes
trying to figure out things, and sceptres and candles appear to him about equivalent; and he is
inclined to give up philosophical experiments, and to let things pass unplumbed. Oh, yes, it
makes a difference." And Jurgen sighed. "And yet, for all that, it is a relief, sir, in a way."

"Nevertheless," said Koshchei, "now that you have inspected the flower of womanhood, I
cannot soberly believe you prefer your termagant of a wife."

"Frankly, Prince, I also am, as usual, undecided. You may be right in all you have urged; and
certainly I cannot go so far as to say you are wrong; but still, at the same time—! Come now,
could you not let me see my first wife for just a moment?"

This was no sooner asked than granted; for there, sure enough, was Dame Lisa. She was no
longer restricted to quiet speech by any stupendous necromancy: and uncommonly plain she
looked, after the passing of those lovely ladies.

"Aha, you rascal!" begins Dame Lisa, addressing Jurgen; "and so you thought to be rid of me!
Oh, a precious lot you are! and a deal of thanks I get for my scrimping and slaving!" And she
began scolding away.

But she began, somewhat to Jurgen's astonishment, by stating that he was even worse than the
Countess Dorothy. Then he recollected that, by not the most disastrous piece of luck
conceivable, Dame Lisa's latest news from the outside world had been rendered by her sister,
the notary's wife, a twelvemonth back.

And rather unaccountably Jurgen fell to thinking of how unsubstantial seemed these curious
months devoted to other women, as set against the commonplace years which he and Lisa had
fretted through together; of the fine and merry girl that Lisa had been before she married him;
of how well she knew his tastes in cookery and all his little preferences, and of how cleverly
she humored them on those rare days when nothing had occurred to vex her; of all the buttons
she had replaced, and all the socks she had darned, and of what tempests had been loosed
when anyone else had had the audacity to criticize Jurgen; and of how much more unpleasant
—everything considered—life was without her than with her. She was so unattractive
looking, too, poor dear, that you could not but be sorry for her. And Jurgen's mood was half
yearning and half penitence.

"I think I will take her back, Prince," says Jurgen, very subdued,—"now that I am forty-and-
something. For I do not know but it is as hard on her as on me."

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"My friend, do you forget the poet that you might be, even yet? No rational person would
dispute that the society and amiable chat of Dame Lisa must naturally be a desideratum—"

But Dame Lisa was always resentful of long words. "Be silent, you black scoffer, and do not
allude to such disgraceful things in the presence of respectable people! For I am a decent
Christian woman, I would have you understand. But everybody knows your reputation! and a
very fit companion you are for that scamp yonder! and volumes could not say more!"

Thus casually, and with comparative lenience, did Dame Lisa dispose of Koshchei, who made
things as they are, for she believed him to be merely Satan. And to her husband Dame Lisa
now addressed herself more particularly.

"Jurgen, I always told you you would come to this, and now I hope you are satisfied. Jurgen,
do not stand there with your mouth open, like a scared fish, when I ask you a civil question!
but answer when you are spoken to! Yes, and you need not try to look so idiotically innocent,
Jurgen, because I am disgusted with you. For, Jurgen, you heard perfectly well what your very
suitable friend just said about me, with my own husband standing by. No—now I beg of you!
—do not ask me what he said, Jurgen! I leave that to your conscience, and I prefer to talk no
more about it. You know that when I am once disappointed in a person I am through with that
person. So, very luckily, there is no need at all for you to pile hypocrisy on cowardice,
because if my own husband has not the feelings of a man, and cannot protect me from insults
and low company, I had best be going home and getting supper ready. I dare say the house is
like a pig-sty: and I can see by looking at you that you have been ruining your eyes by reading
in bed again. And to think of your going about in public, even among such associates, with a
button off your shirt!"

She was silent for one terrible moment; then Lisa spoke in frozen despair.

"And now I look at that shirt, I ask you fairly, Jurgen, do you consider that a man of your age
has any right to be going about in a shirt that nobody—in a shirt which—in a shirt that I can
only—Ah, but I never saw such a shirt! and neither did anybody else! You simply cannot
imagine what a figure you cut in it, Jurgen. Jurgen, I have been patient with you; I have put up
with a great deal, saying nothing where many women would have lost their temper; but I
simply cannot permit you to select your own clothes, and so ruin the business and take the
bread out of our mouths. In short, you are enough to drive a person mad; and I warn you that I
am done with you forever."

Dame Lisa went with dignity to the door of Koshchei's office.

"So you can come with me or not, precisely as you elect. It is all one to me, I can assure you,
after the cruel things you have said, and the way you have stormed at me, and have
encouraged that notorious blackamoor to insult me in terms which I, for one, would not soil
my lips by repeating. I do not doubt you consider it is all very clever and amusing, but you
know now what I think about it. And upon the whole, if you do not feel the exertion will kill
you, you had better come home the long way, and stop by Sister's and ask her to let you have
a half-pound of butter; for I know you too well to suppose you have been attending to the
churning."

Dame Lisa here evinced a stately sort of mirth such as is unimaginable by bachelors.

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"You churning while I was away!—oh, no, not you! There is probably not so much as an egg
in the house. For my lord and gentleman has had other fish to fry, in his fine new courting
clothes. And that—and on a man of your age, with a paunch to you like a beer barrel and with
legs like pipe-stems!—yes, that infamous shirt of yours is the reason you had better, for your
own comfort, come home the long way. For I warn you, Jurgen, that the style in which I have
caught you rigged out has quite decided me, before I go home or anywhere else, to stop by for
a word or so with your high and mighty Madame Dorothy. So you had just as well not be
along with me, for there is no pulling wool over my eyes any longer, and you two need never
think to hoodwink me again about your goings-on. No, Jurgen, you cannot fool me; for I can
read you like a book. And such behavior, at your time of life, does not surprise me at all,
because it is precisely what I would have expected of you."

With that Dame Lisa passed through the door and went away, still talking. It was of Heitman
Michael's wife that the wife of Jurgen spoke, discoursing of the personal traits, and of the past
doings, and (with augmented fervor) of the figure and visage of Madame Dorothy, as all these
abominations appeared to the eye of discernment, and must be revealed by the tongue of
candor, as a matter of public duty.

So passed Dame Lisa, neither as flame nor mist, but as the voice of judgment.

49.

Of the Compromise with Koshchei

"Phew!" said Koshchei, in the ensuing silence: "you had better stay overnight, in any event. I
really think, friend, you will be more comfortable, just now at least, in this quiet cave."

But Jurgen had taken up his hat. "No, I dare say I, too, had better be going," says Jurgen. "I
thank you very heartily for your intended kindness, sir, still I do not know but it is better as it
is. And is there anything"—Jurgen coughed delicately—"and is there anything to pay, sir?"

"Oh, just a trifle, first of all, for a year's maintenance of Dame Lisa. You see, Jurgen, that is
an almighty fine shirt you are wearing: it rather appeals to me; and I fancy, from something
your wife let drop just now, it did not impress her as being quite suited to you. So, in the
interest of domesticity, suppose you ransom Dame Lisa with that fine shirt of yours?"

"Why, willingly," said Jurgen, and he took off the shirt of Nessus.

"You have worn this for some time, I understand," said Koshchei, meditatively: "and did you
ever notice any inconvenience in wearing this garment?"

"Not that I could detect, Prince; it fitted me, and seemed to impress everybody most
favorably."

"There!" said Koshchei; "that is what I have always contended. To the strong man, and to
wholesome matter of fact people generally, it is a fatal irritant; but persons like you can wear
the shirt of Nessus very comfortably for a long, long while, and be generally admired; and

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you end by exchanging it for your wife's society. But now, Jurgen, about yourself. You
probably noticed that my door was marked Keep Out. One must have rules, you know. Often
it is a nuisance, but still rules are rules; and so I must tell you, Jurgen, it is not permitted any
person to leave my presence unmaimed, if not actually annihilated. One really must have
rules, you know."

"You would chop off an arm? or a hand? or a whole finger? Come now,
Prince, you must be joking!"

Koshchei the Deathless was very grave as he sat there, in meditation, drumming with his long
jet-black fingers upon the table-top that was curiously inlaid with thirty pieces of silver. In the
lamplight his sharp nails glittered like flame points, and the color suddenly withdrew from his
eyes, so that they showed like small white eggs.

"But, man, how strange you are!" said Koshchei, presently; and life flowed back into his eyes,
and Jurgen ventured the liberty of breathing. "Inside, I mean. Why, there is hardly anything
left. Now rules are rules, of course; but you, who are the remnant of a poet, may depart
unhindered whenever you will, and I shall take nothing from you. For really it is necessary to
draw the line somewhere."

Jurgen meditated this clemency; and with a sick heart he seemed to understand. "Yes; that is
probably the truth; for I have not retained the faith, nor the desire, nor the vision. Yes, that is
probably the truth. Well, at all events, Prince, I very unfeignedly admired each of the ladies to
whom you were friendly enough to present me, and I was greatly flattered by their offers.
More than generous I thought them. But it really would not do for me to take up with any one
of them now. For Lisa is my wife, you see. A great deal has passed between us, sir, in the last
ten years—And I have been a sore disappointment to her, in many ways—And I am used to
her—"

Then Jurgen considered, and regarded the black gentleman with mingled envy and
commiseration. "Why, no, you probably would not understand, sir, on account of your not
being, I suppose, a married person. But I can assure you it is always pretty much like that."

"I lack grounds to dispute your aphorism," observed Koshchei, "inasmuch as matrimony was
certainly not included in my doom. None the less, to a by-stander, the conduct of you both
appears remarkable. I could not understand, for example, just how your wife proposed to have
you keep out of her sight forever and still have supper with her to-night; nor why she should
desire to sup with such a reprobate as she described with unbridled pungency and
disapproval."

"Ah, but again, it is always pretty much like that, sir. And the truth of it, Prince, is a great
symbol. The truth of it is, we have lived together so long that my wife has become rather
foolishly fond of me. So she is not, as one might say, quite reasonable about me. No, sir; it is
the fashion of women to discard civility toward those for whom they suffer most willingly;
and whom a woman loveth she chasteneth, after a good precedent."

"But her talking, Jurgen, has nowhere any precedent. Why, it deafens, it appals, it submerges
you in an uproarious sea of fault-finding; and in a word, you might as profitably oppose a
hurricane. Yet you want her back! Now assuredly, Jurgen, I do not think very highly of your
wisdom, but by your bravery I am astounded."

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"Ah, Prince, it is because I can perceive that all women are poets, though the medium they
work in is not always ink. So the moment Lisa is set free from what, in a manner of speaking,
sir, inconsiderate persons might, in their unthinking way, refer to as the terrors of an
underground establishment that I do not for an instant doubt to be conducted after a system
which furthers the true interests of everybody, and so reflects vast credit upon its officials, if
you will pardon my frankness"—and Jurgen smiled ingratiatingly,—"why, at that moment
Lisa's thoughts take form in very much the high denunciatory style of Jeremiah and Amos,
who were remarkably fine poets. Her concluding observations as to the Countess, in
particular, I consider to have been an example of sustained invective such as one rarely
encounters in this degenerate age. Well, her next essay in creative composition is my supper,
which will be an equally spirited impromptu. To-morrow she will darn and sew me an epic;
and her desserts will continue to be in the richest lyric vein. Such, sir, are the poems of Lisa,
all addressed to me, who came so near to gallivanting with mere queens!"

"What, can it be that you are remorseful?" said Koshchei.

"Oh, Prince, when I consider steadfastly the depth and the intensity of that devotion which,
for so many years, has tended me, and has endured the society of that person whom I
peculiarly know to be the most tedious and irritating of companions, I stand aghast, before a
miracle. And I cry, Oh, certainly a goddess! and I can think of no queen who is fairly
mentionable in the same breath. Hah, all we poets write a deal about love: but none of us may
grasp the word's full meaning until he reflects that this is a passion mighty enough to induce a
woman to put up with him."

"Even so, it does not seem to induce quite thorough confidence. Jurgen, I was grieved to see
that Dame Lisa evidently suspects you of running after some other woman in your wife's
absence."

"Think upon that now! And you saw for yourself how little the handsomest of women could
tempt me. Yet even Lisa's absurd notion I can comprehend and pardon. And again, you
probably would not understand my overlooking such a thing, sir, on account of your not being
a married person. Nevertheless, my forgiveness also is a great symbol."

Then Jurgen sighed and he shook hands, very circumspectly, with Koshchei, who made things
as they are; and Jurgen started out of the office.

"But I will bear you company a part of the way," says Koshchei.

So Koshchei removed his dressing-gown, and he put on the fine laced coat which was hung
over the back of a strange looking chair with three legs, each of a different metal; the shirt of
Nessus Koshchei folded and put aside, saying that some day he might be able to use it
somehow. And Koshchei paused before the blackboard and he scratched his head reflectively.
Jurgen saw that this board was nearly covered with figures which had not yet been added up;
and this blackboard seemed to him the most frightful thing he had faced anywhere.

Then Koshchei came out of the cave with Jurgen, and Koshchei walked with Jurgen across
Amneran Heath, and through Morven, in the late evening. And Koshchei talked as they went;
and a queer thing Jurgen noticed, and it was that the moon was sinking in the east, as though
the time were getting earlier and earlier. But Jurgen did not presume to criticize this, in the
presence of Koshchei, who made things as they are.

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"And I manage affairs as best I can, Jurgen. But they get in a fearful muddle sometimes. Eh,
sirs, I have no competent assistants. I have to look out for everything, absolutely everything!
And of course, while in a sort of way I am infallible, mistakes will occur every now and then
in the actual working out of plans that in the abstract are right enough. So it really does please
me to hear anybody putting in a kind word for things as they are, because, between ourselves,
there is a deal of dissatisfaction about. And I was honestly delighted, just now, to hear you
speaking up for evil in the face of that rapscallion monk. So I give you thanks and many
thanks, Jurgen, for your kind word."

"'Just now!'" thinks Jurgen. He perceived that they had passed the Cistercian Abbey, and were
approaching Bellegarde. And it was as in a dream that Jurgen was speaking, "Who are you,
and why do you thank me?" asks Jurgen.

"My name is no great matter. But you have a kind heart, Jurgen. May your life lie free from
care."

"Save us from hurt and harm, friend, but I am already married—" Then resolutely Jurgen put
aside the spell that was befogging him. "See here, Prince, are you beginning all over again?
For I really cannot stand any more of your benevolences."

Koshchei smiled. "No, Jurgen, I am not beginning all over again. For now I have never begun,
and now there is no word of truth in anything which you remember of the year just past. Now
none of these things has ever happened."

"But how can that be, Prince?"

"Why should I tell you, Jurgen? Let it suffice that what I will, not only happens, but has
already happened, beyond the ancientest memory of man and his mother. How otherwise
could I be Koshchei? And so farewell to you, poor Jurgen, to whom nothing in particular has
happened now. It is not justice I am giving you, but something infinitely more acceptable to
you and all your kind."

"But, to be sure!" says Jurgen. "I fancy that nobody anywhere cares much for justice. So
farewell to you, Prince. And at our parting I ask no more questions of you, for I perceive it is
scant comfort a man gets from questioning Koshchei, who made things as they are. But I am
wondering what pleasure you get out of it all?"

"Eh, sirs," says Koshchei, with not the most candid of smiles, "I contemplate the spectacle
with appropriate emotions."

And so speaking, Koshchei quitted Jurgen forever.

"Yet how may I be sure," thought Jurgen, instantly, "that this black gentleman was really
Koshchei? He said he was? Why, yes; and Horvendile to all intents told me that Horvendile
was Koshchei. Aha, and what else did Horvendile say!—'This is one of the romancer's most
venerable devices that is being practised.' Why, but there was Smoit of Glathion, also, so that
this is the third time I have been fobbed off with the explanation I was dreaming! and left with
no proof, one way or the other."

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Thus Jurgen, indignantly, and then he laughed. "Why, but, of course! I may have talked face
to face with Koshchei, who made all things as they are; and again, I may not have. That is the
whole point of it—the cream, as one might say, of the jest—that I cannot ever be sure.
Well!"—and Jurgen shrugged here—"well, and what could I be expected to do about it?"

50.

The Moment That Did Not Count

And that is really all the story save for the moment Jurgen paused on his way home. For
Koshchei (if it, indeed, was Koshchei) had quitted Jurgen just as they approached Bellegarde:
and as the pawnbroker walked on alone in the pleasant April evening one called to him from
the terrace. Even in the dusk he knew this was the Countess Dorothy.

"May I speak with you a moment?" says she.

"Very willingly, madame." And Jurgen ascended from the highway to the terrace.

"I thought it would be near your supper hour. So I was waiting here until you passed. You
conceive, it is not quite convenient for me to seek you out at the shop."

"Why, no, madame. There is a prejudice," said Jurgen, soberly. And he waited.

He saw that Madame Dorothy was perfectly composed, yet anxious to speed the affair. "You
must know," said she, "that my husband's birthday approaches, and I wish to surprise him
with a gift. It is therefore necessary that I raise some money without troubling him. How
much—abominable usurer!—could you advance me upon this necklace?"

Jurgen turned it in his hand. It was a handsome piece of jewelry, familiar to him as formerly
the property of Heitman Michael's mother. Jurgen named a sum.

"But that," the Countess says, "is not a fraction of its worth!"

"Times are very hard, madame. Of course, if you cared to sell outright I could deal more
generously."

"Old monster, I could not do that. It would not be convenient." She hesitated here. "It would
not be explicable."

"As to that, madame, I could make you an imitation in paste which nobody could distinguish
from the original, I can amply understand that you desire to veil from your husband any
sacrifices that are entailed by your affection."

"It is my affection for him," said the Countess quickly.

"I alluded to your affection for him," said Jurgen—"naturally."

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Then Countess Dorothy named a price for the necklace. "For it is necessary I have that much,
and not a penny less." And Jurgen shook his head dubiously, and vowed that ladies were
unconscionable bargainers: but Jurgen agreed to what she asked, because the necklace was
worth almost as much again. Then Jurgen suggested that the business could be most
conveniently concluded through an emissary.

"If Messire de Nérac, for example, could have matters explained to him, and could manage to
visit me tomorrow, I am sure we could carry through this amiable imposture without any
annoyance whatever to Heitman Michael," says Jurgen, smoothly.

"Nérac will come then," says the Countess. "And you may give him the money, precisely as
though it were for him."

"But certainly, madame. A very estimable young nobleman, that! and it is a pity his debts are
so large. I heard that he had lost heavily at dice within the last month; and I grieved,
madame."

"He has promised me when these debts are settled to play no more—But again what am I
saying! I mean, Master Inquisitive, that I take considerable interest in the welfare of Messire
de Nérac: and so I have sometimes chided him on his wild courses. And that is all I mean."

"Precisely, madame. And so Messire de Nérac will come to me to-morrow for the money: and
there is no more to say."

Jurgen paused. The moon was risen now. These two sat together upon a bench of carved stone
near the balustrade: and before them, upon the other side of the highway, were luminous
valleys and tree-tops. Fleetingly Jurgen recollected the boy and girl who had once sat in this
place, and had talked of all the splendid things which Jurgen was to do, and of the happy life
that was to be theirs together. Then he regarded the composed and handsome woman beside
him, and he considered that the money to pay her latest lover's debts had been assured with a
suitable respect for appearances.

"Come, but this is a gallant lady, who would defy the almanac," reflected Jurgen. "Even so,
thirty-eight is an undeniable and somewhat autumnal figure, and I suspect young Nérac is
bleeding his elderly mistress. Well, but at his age nobody has a conscience. Yes, and Madame
Dorothy is handsome still; and still my pulse is playing me queer tricks, because she is near
me, and my voice has not the intonation I intend, because she is near me; and still I am three-
quarters in love with her. Yes, in the light of such cursed folly as even now possesses me, I
have good reason to give thanks for the regained infirmities of age. Yet living seems to me a
wasteful and inequitable process, for this is a poor outcome for the boy and girl that I
remember. And weighing this outcome, I am tempted to weep and to talk romantically, even
now."

But he did not. For really, weeping was not requisite. Jurgen was making his fair profit out of
the Countess's folly, and it was merely his duty to see that this little business transaction was
managed without any scandal.

"So there is nothing more to say," observed Jurgen, as he rose in the moonlight, "save that I
shall always be delighted to serve you, madame, and I may reasonably boast that I have
earned a reputation for fair dealing."

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And he thought: "In effect, since certainly as she grows older she will need yet more money
for her lovers, I am offering to pimp for her." Then Jurgen shrugged. "That is one side of the
affair. The other is that I transact my legitimate business,—I, who am that which the years
have made of me."

Thus it was that Jurgen quitted the Countess Dorothy, whom, as you have heard, this
pawnbroker had loved in his first youth under the name of Heart's Desire; and whom in the
youth that was loaned him by Mother Sereda he had loved as Queen Helen, the delight of
gods and men. For Jurgen was quitting Madame Dorothy after the simplest of business
transactions, which consumed only a moment, and did not actually count one way or the
other.

And after this moment which did not count, the pawnbroker resumed his journey, and so came
presently to his home. He peeped through the window. And there in a snug room, with supper
laid, sat Dame Lisa about some sewing, and evidently in a quite amiable frame of mind.

Then terror smote the Jurgen who had faced sorcerers and gods and devils intrepidly. "For I
forgot about the butter!"

But immediately afterward he recollected that, now, not even what Lisa had said to him in the
cave was real. Neither he nor Lisa, now, had ever been in the cave, and probably there was no
longer any such place, and now there never had been any such place. It was rather confusing.

"Ah, but I must remember carefully," said Jurgen, "that I have not seen Lisa since breakfast,
this morning. Nothing whatever has happened. There has been no requirement laid upon me,
after all, to do the manly thing. So I retain my wife, such as she is, poor dear! I retain my
home. I retain my shop and a fair line of business. Yes, Koshchei—if it was really Koshchei
—has dealt with me very justly. And probably his methods are everything they should be;
certainly I cannot go so far as to say that they are wrong: but still, at the same time—!"

Then Jurgen sighed, and entered his snug home. Thus it was in the old days.

EXPLICIT

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