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
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."
"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."
"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 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.