Jurgen quotes

“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:

“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:

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?”

“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 …

“For in my arms now there is just a very pretty girl who is not overcareful 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.

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 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.

If you had said the Four Evangelists now—! For we were talking of the Four Evangelists, you remember, this 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?”

“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.

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.

”

“Do you think this is reputable conduct, King?”

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

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.”

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:

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.”

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 …

… 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!”

“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.”

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.”

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:

“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.

”

“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.

”

“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.

”

“

Dullness will conquer dullness: and it will not matter.

”

“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:

“But that,” said Perion, “is nonsense.”

“Of course it is,” said Horvendile. “That is probably why it happens.”

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.

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 wholeheartedly.

Well, what if I took vengeance now upon this thieving comeliness, upon this robber that strips life of joy and sorrow?”

“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.”

“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!

”

“

My conscience, gentlemen, is too well-bred to insist on anything.

”

“

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?

”

“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.

”

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—?”

“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.

Now—as you understand, I hope—I concede the jest, I do not for a moment deny it is a masterstroke 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.”

“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.

“So goes this crisscross 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 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.

”

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.

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 heartbeat, and then matters were comfortable enough.

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.

Jurgen shrugged.

“Seesaw! 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.

“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.

“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?”

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:

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.

“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.

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.

”

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.

“Tonight,” 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.

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?

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.