Jurgen - James Branch Cabell (reading a book TXT) 📗

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.”

“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.

XXXVI 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 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