anything to humor love, since love is one of the two things which are impossible to Koshchei.'
'I have heard that pride is impossible to Koshchei—'
The God of Jurgen's grandmother raised His white eyebrows. 'What is pride? I do not think I ever heard of it before. Assuredly it is something that does not enter here.'
'But why is love impossible to Koshchei?'
'Because Koshchei made things as they are, and day and night he contemplates things as they are. How, then, can Koshchei love anything?'
But Jurgen shook his sleek black head. 'That I cannot understand at all. If I were imprisoned in a cell wherein was nothing except my verses I would not be happy, and certainly I would not be proud: but even so, I would love my verses. I am afraid that I fall in more readily with the ideas of Grandfather Satan than with Yours; and without contradicting You, I cannot but wonder if what You reveal is true.'
'And how should I know whether or not I speak the truth?' the God asked of him, 'since I am but the illusion of an old woman, as you have so frequently proved by logic.'
'Well, well!' said Jurgen, 'You may be right in all matters, and certainly I cannot presume to say You are wrong: but still, at the same time—! No, even now I do not quite believe in You.'
'Who could expect it of a clever fellow, who sees so clearly through the illusions of old women?' the God asked, a little wearily.
And Jurgen answered:
'God of my grandmother, I cannot quite believe in You, and Your doings as they are recorded I find incoherent and a little droll. But I am glad the affair has been so arranged that You may always now be real to brave and gentle persons who have believed in and have worshipped and have loved You. To have disappointed them would have been unfair: and it is right that before the faith they had in You not even Koshchei who made things as they are was able to be reasonable.
'God of my grandmother, I cannot quite believe in You; but remembering the sum of love and faith that has been given You, I tremble. I think of the dear people whose living was confident and glad because of their faith in You: I think of them, and in my heart contends a blind contrition, and a yearning, and an enviousness, and yet a tender sort of amusement colors all. Oh, God, there was never any other deity who had such dear worshippers as You have had, and You should be very proud of them.
'God of my grandmother, I cannot quite believe in You, yet I am not as those who would come peering at You reasonably. I, Jurgen, see You only through a mist of tears. For You were loved by those whom I loved greatly very long ago: and when I look at You it is Your worshippers and the dear believers of old that I remember. And it seems to me that dates and manuscripts and the opinions of learned persons are very trifling things beside what I remember, and what I envy!'
'Who could have expected such a monstrous clever fellow ever to envy the illusions of old women?' the God of Jurgen's grandmother asked again: and yet His countenance was not unfriendly.
'Why, but,' said Jurgen, on a sudden, 'why, but my grandmother—in a way—was right about Heaven and about You also. 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—?'
'Yes, Jurgen?'
'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. And before him was the throne of the vanished God and the sceptre of the God, and Jurgen saw that the seven spots upon the great book were of red sealing-wax.
Jurgen was afraid: but he was particularly appalled by his consciousness that he was not going to falter. 'What, you who have been duke and prince and king and emperor and pope! and do such dignities content a Jurgen? Why, not at all,' says Jurgen.
So Jurgen ascended the throne of Heaven, and sat beneath that wondrous rainbow: and in his lap now was the book, and in his hand was the sceptre, of the God of Jurgen's grandmother.
Jurgen sat thus, for a long while regarding the bright vacant courts of Heaven. 'And what will you do now?' says Jurgen, aloud. 'Oh, fretful little Jurgen, you that have complained because you had not your desire, you are omnipotent over Earth and all the affairs of men. What now is your desire?' And sitting thus terribly enthroned, the heart of Jurgen was as lead within him, and he felt old and very tired. 'For I do not know. Oh, nothing can help me, for I do not know what thing it is that I desire! And this book and this sceptre and this throne avail me nothing at all, and nothing can ever avail me: for I am Jurgen who seeks he knows not what.'
So Jurgen shrugged, and climbed down from the throne of the God, and wandering at adventure, came presently to four archangels. They were seated upon a fleecy cloud, and they were eating milk and honey from gold porringers: and of these radiant beings Jurgen inquired the quickest way out of Heaven.
'For hereabouts are none of my illusions,' said Jurgen, 'and I must now return to such illusions as are congenial. One must believe in something. And all that I have seen in Heaven I have admired and envied, but in none of these things could I believe, and with none of these things could I be satisfied. And while I think of it, I wonder now if any of you gentlemen can give me news of that Lisa who used to be my wife?'
He described her; and they regarded him with compassion.
But these archangels, he found, had never heard of Lisa, and they assured him there was no such person in Heaven. For Steinvor had died when Jurgen was a boy, and so she had never seen Lisa; and in consequence, had not thought about Lisa one way or the other, when Steinvor outlined her notions to Koshchei who made things as they are.
Now Jurgen discovered, too, that, when his eyes first met the eyes of the God of Jurgen's grandmother, Jurgen had stayed motionless for thirty-seven days, forgetful of everything save that the God of his grandmother was love.
'Nobody else has willingly turned away so soon,' Zachariel told him: 'and we think that your insensibility is due to some evil virtue in the glittering garment which you are wearing, and of which the like was never seen in Heaven.'
'I did but search for justice,' Jurgen said: 'and I could not find it in the eyes of your God, but only love and such forgiveness as troubled me.'
'Because of that should you rejoice,' the four archangels said; 'and so should all that lives rejoice: and more particularly should we rejoice that dwell in Heaven, and hourly praise our Lord God's negligence of justice, whereby we are permitted to enter into this place.'
42. Twelve That are Fretted Hourly
So it was upon Walburga's Eve, when almost anything is rather more than likely to happen, that Jurgen went hastily out of Heaven, without having gained or wasted any love there. St. Peter unbarred for him, not the main entrance, but a small private door, carved with innumerable fishes in bas-relief, because this exit opened directly upon any place you chose to imagine.
'For thus,' St. Peter said, 'you may return without loss of time to your own illusions.'
'There was a cross,' said Jurgen, 'which I used to wear about my neck, through motives of sentiment, because it once belonged to my dead mother. For no woman has ever loved me save that Azra who was my mother—'
'I wonder if your mother told you that?' St. Peter asked him, smiling reminiscently. 'Mine did, time and again. And sometimes I have wondered—? For, as you may remember, I was a married man, Jurgen: and my wife did not quite understand me,' said St. Peter, with a sigh.
'Why, indeed,' says Jurgen, 'my case is not entirely dissimilar: and the more I marry, the less I find of comprehension. I should have had more sympathy with King Smoit, who was certainly my grandfather. Well, you conceive, St. Peter, these other women have trusted me, more or less, because they loved a phantom Jurgen. But Azra trusted me not at all, because she loved me with clear eyes. She comprehended Jurgen, and yet loved him:
