Jurgen: A Comedy of Justice Read online

  6.

  Showing that Sereda Is Feminine

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

  "Forward, then!" he said, "in the name of Koshchei." And thereafterJurgen permitted the horse to choose its own way.

  Thus Jurgen came through a forest, wherein he saw many things notsalutary to notice, to a great stone house like a prison, and hesought shelter there. But he could find nobody about the place,until he came to a large hall, newly swept. This was a depressingapartment, in its chill neat emptiness, for it was unfurnished savefor a bare deal table, upon which lay a yardstick and a pair ofscales. Above this table hung a wicker cage, containing a blue bird,and another wicker cage containing three white pigeons. And in thishall a woman, no longer young, dressed all in blue, and wearing awhite towel by way of head-dress was assorting curiously coloredcloths.

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

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

  "Good day, grandmother! I am looking for my wife, whom I suspect tohave been carried off by a devil, poor fellow! Now, having lost myway, 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 Leshy 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. ForI take the color out of all things. Thus you see these stuffs here,as they are now. Clotho spun the glowing threads, and Lachesis wovethem, as you observe, in curious patterns, very marvelous to see:but when I am done with these stuffs there will be no more color orbeauty or strangeness anywhere apparent than in so many dishclouts."

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

  He made a song of this, in praise of the Leshy and their Days, butmore especially in praise of the might of Mother Sereda and of theruins that have fallen on Wednesday. To Chetverg and Utornik andSubbota he gave their due. Pyatinka and Nedelka also did Jurgencommend for such demolishments as have enregistered their names inthe calendar of saints, no less. Ah, but there was none like MotherSereda: hers was the centre of that power which is the Leshy's. Theothers did but nibble at temporal things, like furtive mice: shedevastated, like a sandstorm, so that there were many dustheapswhere Mother Sereda had passed, but nothing else.

  And so on, and so on. The song was no masterpiece, and would not bebettered by repetition. But it was all untrammeled eulogy, and theold woman beat time to it with her lean hands: and her shrunk jawsquivered, and she nodded her white-wrapped head this way and thatway, with a rolling motion, and on her thin lips was a very proudand foolish smile.

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

  "Monday!" says Jurgen: "yes, I neglected Monday, perhaps because sheis the oldest of you, but in part because of the exigencies of myrhyme scheme. We must let Pandelis go unhymned. How can I remembereverything when I consider the might of Sereda?"

  "Why, but," says Mother Sereda, "Pandelis may not like it, and shemay 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 yourpraise of me, I will tell you that, if your wife has been carriedoff 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 onething needful is not to stand still. This much I will tell you alsofor your song's sake, because that was an excellent song, and nobodyever made a song in praise of me before to-day."

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

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

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

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

  "Well, and indeed, Mother Sereda, your wonder seems to me anotherwonder: for I can think of no profession better suited to a retiredpoet. Why, there is the variety of company! for high and low andeven the genteel are pressed sometimes for money: then the plowmanslouches into my shop, and the duke sends for me privately. So thepeople I know, and the bits of their lives I pop into, give me adeal to romance about."

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

  "Moreover, sitting in my shop, I wait there quiet-like while tributecomes to me from the ends of earth: everything which men and womenhave valued anywhere comes sooner or later to me: and jewels andfine knickknacks that were the pride of queens they bring me, andwedding rings, and the baby's cradle with his little tooth marks onthe rim of it, and silver coffin-handles, or it may be an oldfrying-pan, they bring me, but all comes to Jurgen. So that just tosit there in my dark shop quiet-like, and wonder about the historyof my belongings and how they were made mine, is poetry, and is thedeep and high and ancient thinking of a god who is dozing among whattime has left of a dead world, if you understand me, Mother Sereda."

  "I understand: oho, I understand that which pertains to gods, for asufficient 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 wouldnot come otherwise. So you get the shining and rough-edged coinsthat you can feel the proud king's head on, with his laurel-wreathlike millet seed under your fingers; and you get the flat andgreenish coins that are smeared with the titles and the chins andhooked noses of emperors whom nobody remembers or cares about anylonger: all just by waiting there quiet-like, and making a favor ofit to let customers give you their belongings for a third of whatthey 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 disputeif 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 thequeerness of things in general: and that is always rare employmentfor a poet, even without the tatters of so many lives and homesheaped up about him like spillikins. So that I would say in all,Mother Sereda, there is certainly no profession better suited to anold poet than the profession of pawnbroking."

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

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

  "But how can you and I be kin?"

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

  "I do not know, dearie, I am sure. Nobody ever cared to claim kinwith 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, holdsthe question debatable, but his reasons for doing so are tolerablynotorious. Besides, what does all his flimsy sophistry avail againstNicanor's fine chapter on this very subject? Crushing, I considerit. His logic is final and irrefutable. What can anyone say againstSaevius Nicanor?--ah, what indeed?" demanded Jurgen.

  And he wondered if there might not have been perchance some suchpersons somewhere, after all. Their names, in any event, soundedvery 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 thepress of other matters you overlooked some forty years back. Youwill readily conceive that your negligence, however unintentional,might possibly give rise to unkindly criticism: and so I felt Iought to mention it, in common fairness to you."

  "As for that, dearie, ask what you will within the limits of mypower. For mine are all the sapphires and turquoises and whateverelse in this dusty world is blue; and mine likewise are all theWednesdays that have ever been or ever will be: and any one of thesewill I freely give you in return for your fine speeches and yourtender heart."

  "Ah, but, godmother, would it be quite just for you to accord me somuch 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 sapphiresare of the first water, and that many of my oncoming Wednesdays willbe well worth seeing."

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

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

  As she spoke, she undid the towel about her head, and she took ablue comb from her white hair: and she showed Jurgen what wasengraved on the comb. It frightened Jurgen, a little: but he noddedassent.

  "First, though," says Mother Sereda, "here is the blue bird. Wouldyou not rather have that, dearie, than your Wednesday? Most peoplewould."

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

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

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