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 arch-way 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 semi-circles: 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 boy is here with Me, as you yourself have seen. And to-day there is nothing remaining of him anywhere in the man that is Jurgen."
 
"God of my grandmother! God Whom I too loved in boyhood!" said Jurgen then: "why is it that I am denied a God? For I have searched: and nowhere can I find justice, and nowhere can I find anything to worship."
 
"What, Jurgen, and would you look for justice, of all places, in
Heaven?"
 
"No," Jurgen said; "no, I perceive it cannot be considered here.
Else You would sit alone."
 
"And for the rest, you have looked to find your God without, not looking within to see that which is truly worshipped in the thoughts of Jurgen. Had you done so, you would have seen, as plainly as I now see, that which alone you are able to worship. And your God is maimed: the dust of your journeying is thick upon him; your vanity is laid as a napkin upon his eyes; and in his heart is neither love nor hate, not even for his only worshipper."
 
"Do not deride him, You Who have so many worshippers! At least, he is a monstrous clever fellow," said Jurgen: and boldly he said it, in the highest court of Heaven, and before the pensive face of the God of Jurgen's grandmother.
 
"Ah, very probably. I do not meet with many clever people. And as for My numerous worshippers, you forget how often you have demonstrated that I was the delusion of an old woman."
 
"Well, and was there ever a flaw in my logic?"
 
"I was not listening to you, Jurgen. You must know that logic does not much concern us, inasmuch as nothing is logical hereabouts."
 
And now the four winged creatures ceased their chaunting, and the organ music became a far-off murmuring. And there was silence in Heaven. And the God of Jurgen's grandmother, too, was silent for a while, and the rainbow under which He sat put off its seven colors and burned with an unendurable white, tinged bluishly, while the God considered ancient things. Then in the silence this God began to speak.
 
Some years ago (said the God of Jurgen's grandmother) it was reported to Koshchei that scepticism was abroad in his universe, and that one walked therein who would be contented with no rational explanation. "Bring me this infidel," says Koshchei: so they brought to him in the void a little bent gray woman in an old gray shawl. "Now, tell me why you will not believe," says Koshchei, "in things as they are."
 
Then the decent little bent gray woman answered civilly; "I do not know, sir, who you may happen to be. But, since you ask me, everybody knows that things as they are must be regarded as temporary afflictions, and as trials through which we are righteously condemned to pass, in order to attain to eternal life with our loved ones in Heaven."
 
"Ah, yes," said Koshchei, who made things as they are; "ah, yes, to be sure! and how did you learn of this?"
 
"Why, every Sunday morning the priest discoursed to us about Heaven, and of how happy we would be there after death."
 
"Has this woman died, then?" asked Koshchei.
 
"Yes, sir," they told him,—"recently. And she will believe nothing we explain to her, but demands to be taken to Heaven."
 
"Now, this is very vexing," Koshchei said, "and I cannot, of course, put up with such scepticism. That would never do. So why do you not convey her to this Heaven which she believes in, and thus put an end to the matter?"
 
"But, sir," they told him, "there is no such place."
 
Then Koshchei reflected. "It is certainly strange that a place which does not exist should be a matter of public knowledge in another place. Where does this woman come from?"
 
"From Earth," they told him.
 
"Where is that?" he asked: and they explained to him as well as they could.
 
"Oh, yes, over that way," Koshchei interrupted. "I remember.
Now—but what is your name, woman who wish to go to Heaven?"
 
"Steinvor, sir: and if you please I am rather in a hurry to be with my children again. You see, I have not seen any of them for a long while."
 
"But stay," said Koshchei: "what is that which comes into this woman's eyes as she speaks of her children?" They told him it was love.
 
"Did I create this love?" says Koshchei, who made things as they are. And they told him, no: and that there were many sorts of love, but that this especial sort was an illusion which women had invented for themselves, and which they exhibited in all dealings with their children. And Koshchei sighed.
 
"Tell me about your children," Koshchei then said to Steinvor: "and look at me as you talk, so that I may see your eyes."
 
So Steinvor talked of her children: and Koshchei, who made all things, listened very attentively. Of Coth she told him, of her only son, confessing Coth was the finest boy that ever lived,—"a little wild, sir, at first, but then you know what boys are,"—and telling of how well Coth had done in business and of how he had even risen to be an alderman. Koshchei, who made all things, seemed properly impressed. Then Steinvor talked of her daughters, of Imperia and Lindamira and Christine: of Imperia's beauty, and of Lindamira's bravery under the mishaps of an unlucky marriage, and of Christine's superlative housekeeping. "Fine women, sir, every one of them, with children of their own! and to me they still seem such babies, bless them!" And the decent little bent gray woman laughed. "I have been very lucky in my children, sir, and in my grandchildren, too," she told Koshchei. "There is Jurgen, now, my Coth's boy! You may not believe it, sir, but there is a story I must tell you about Jurgen—" So she ran on very happily and proudly, while Koshchei, who made all things, listened, and watched the eyes of Steinvor.
 
Then privately Koshchei asked, "Are these children and grandchildren of Steinvor such as she reports?"
 
"No, sir," they told him privately.
 
So as Steinvor talked Koshchei devised illusions in accordance with that which Steinvor said, and created such children and grandchildren as she described. Male and female he created them standing behind Steinvor, and all were beautiful and stainless: and Koshchei gave life to these illusions.
 
Then Koshchei bade her turn about. She obeyed: and Koshchei was forgotten.
 
Well, Koshchei sat there alone in the void, looking not very happy, and looking puzzled, and drumming upon his knee, and staring at the little bent gray woman, who was busied with her children and grandchildren, and had forgotten all about him. "But surely, Lindamira," he hears Steinvor say, "we are not yet in Heaven."—"Ah, my dear mother," replies her illusion of Lindamira, "to be with you again is Heaven: and besides, it may be that Heaven is like this, after all."—"My darling child, it is sweet of you to say that, and exactly like you to say that. But you know very well that Heaven is fully described in the............