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

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 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.

XLI 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 archway 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 semicircles: 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