Jurgen by James Cabell

Author:James Cabell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Humorous
Publisher: Jovian Press

IN TIME’S HOUR-GLASS

~

“WELL, WELL!” SAID JURGEN, WHEN he had taken off all that foolish ironmongery, and had made himself comfortable in his shirt; “well, beyond doubt, the situation is awkward. I was content enough in Cocaigne, and it is unfair that I should be thus ousted. Still, a sensible person will manage to be content anywhere. But whither, pray, am I expected to go?”

“Into whatever land you may elect, my dear,” said Anaïtis, fondly. “That much at least I can manage for you: and the interpretation of your legend can be arranged afterward.”

“But I grow tired of all the countries I have ever seen, dear Anaïtis, and in my time I have visited nearly all the lands that are known to men.”

“That too can be arranged: and you can go instead into one of the countries which are desired by men. Indeed there are a number of such realms which no man has ever visited except in dreams, so that your choice is wide.”

“But how am I to make a choice without having seen any of these countries? It is not fair to be expecting me to do anything of the sort.”

“Why, I will show them to you,” Anaïtis replied.

The two of them then went together into a small blue chamber, the walls of which were ornamented with gold stars placed helter-skelter. The room was entirely empty save for an hour-glass near twice the height of a man.

“It is Time’s own glass,” said Anaïtis, “which was left in my keeping when Time went to sleep.”

Anaïtis opened a little door of carved crystal that was in the lower half of the hour-glass, just above the fallen sands. With her finger-tips she touched the sand that was in Time’s hour-glass, and in the sand she drew a triangle with equal sides, she who was strangely gifted and perverse. Then she drew just such another figure so that the tip of it penetrated the first triangle. The sand began to smoulder there, and vapors rose into the upper part of the hour-glass, and Jurgen saw that all the sand in Time’s hour-glass was kindled by a magic generated by the contact of these two triangles. And in the vapors a picture formed.

“I see a land of woods and rivers, Anaïtis. A very old fellow, regally crowned, lies asleep under an ash-tree, guarded by a watchman who has more arms and hands than Jigsbyed.”

“It is Atlantis you behold, and the sleeping of ancient Time—Time, to whom this glass belongs,—while Briareus watches.”

“Time sleeps quite naked, Anaïtis, and, though it is a delicate matter to talk about, I notice he has met with a deplorable accident.”

“So that Time begets nothing any more, Jurgen, the while he brings about old happenings over and over, and changes the name of what is ancient, in order to persuade himself he has a new plaything. There is really no more tedious and wearing old dotard anywhere, I can assure you. But Atlantis is only the western province of Cocaigne. Now

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