they walked together, the teacher's nervousness infected the student. Claude knew he was about to confront another unknown variable in the life of the Abbe.
"I must introduce you to the Hours of Love," the Abbe said, directing Claude to a table that was topped with a chest. He opened it and revealed another chest, of slightly smaller dimensions. It, in turn, contained another chest, which moments later yielded still another. As the chests diminished in size, Claude's excitement grew, so that by the time the Abbe held up the last chest, which was, appropriately enough, of carved boxwood, Claude was staring fiercely.
"You have been enameling for some time now. Your progress has been exemplary, even if your enthusiasm has waned a bit. Yes, I have noticed. But from this day forward, work will carry an additional burden. No more fanciful designs for your own purposes."
The Abbe removed an object from the chest. "Take a look at this."
Claude did not need to be told twice. It was a watch, or, more precisely, a watchcase, since the mechanism was missing.
"For a certain nobleman. What do you think?" Claude inspected it more closely. He was disappointed. The enamelwork was not terribly noteworthy, demonstrating skills inferior to those he already possessed. The case depicted a man and a woman standing side by side. They looked out with a blankness that suggested profound boredom and matrimonial allegiance. The man was costumed in the uniform of a French lieutenant, with some crudely painted epaulettes dropping off his shoulders. The woman wore a matronly gown and a ridiculous bonnet. They kept their hands behind their backs.
"I can see from your expression that you are not impressed. It is not like the fardels of mechanical wonderment your father took to Turkey." The Abbe continued to talk, denying Claude the chance to succumb to the reverie of camel princes. "And it is true the enameling is poor, crazed by improper tempeting. Still, I think you should look more carefully."
Claude looked again.
"No, not there. There."
Claude discovered, on closer inspection, a discreet protrusion not unlike the extended wing of a lady bug.
"Push it," the Abbe said.
Claude pushed it. The back of the case popped open to reveal the same husband and wife, only this time ftom behind. They no longer wore the costumes seen on the front of the watch. No epaulettes for him, no lace bonnet for her. In fact, the husband and wife were naked. "The backside for their backsides, eh?" the Abbe said.
The hands of the officer now found prominent display, used as they were to caress his mistress. (Perhaps unfairly, the assumption of marriage was dropped.) Specifically, the lieutenant was stroking his partner's buttocks, whose shape reminded Claude of Kleinhoff's bastard musks.
The Abbe displayed another watchcase, this one with an enamel nun bent in prayer. The white mantle over dark-brown habit and the roughly painted face could leave no doubt that it was Sister Constance. The Abbe handed the piece over. "I call it The Defrocked Nun. Use your clasp knife to prize open the screen."
Claude lifted a smartly recessed screen and gawked at the disrobed Sister. She was receiving extreme unction from a well-endowed, if aged, prelate whose high station in the hierarchy of the Church was identifiable only by the miter perched on his head.
The Abbe took back the watchcases. "These, Claude, are the Hours of Love, discreetly ordered watches hiding indiscreetly disordered passions. They will be the object of our future manufacture. Let me explain. For years, I pursued my research without attention to cost. I inherited wealth and spent it willfully and at times extravagantly. I did my little experiments, built my big library, bought shells, apparatus, and, on a lark, the Wunderkammer of a minor Saxony prince. That is how I acquired the narwhal tusk, by the way. None of this would have diminished my legacy. You see, my father's avarice had made me a very rich man.
"I must introduce you to the Hours of Love," the Abbe said, directing Claude to a table that was topped with a chest. He opened it and revealed another chest, of slightly smaller dimensions. It, in turn, contained another chest, which moments later yielded still another. As the chests diminished in size, Claude's excitement grew, so that by the time the Abbe held up the last chest, which was, appropriately enough, of carved boxwood, Claude was staring fiercely.
"You have been enameling for some time now. Your progress has been exemplary, even if your enthusiasm has waned a bit. Yes, I have noticed. But from this day forward, work will carry an additional burden. No more fanciful designs for your own purposes."
The Abbe removed an object from the chest. "Take a look at this."
Claude did not need to be told twice. It was a watch, or, more precisely, a watchcase, since the mechanism was missing.
"For a certain nobleman. What do you think?" Claude inspected it more closely. He was disappointed. The enamelwork was not terribly noteworthy, demonstrating skills inferior to those he already possessed. The case depicted a man and a woman standing side by side. They looked out with a blankness that suggested profound boredom and matrimonial allegiance. The man was costumed in the uniform of a French lieutenant, with some crudely painted epaulettes dropping off his shoulders. The woman wore a matronly gown and a ridiculous bonnet. They kept their hands behind their backs.
"I can see from your expression that you are not impressed. It is not like the fardels of mechanical wonderment your father took to Turkey." The Abbe continued to talk, denying Claude the chance to succumb to the reverie of camel princes. "And it is true the enameling is poor, crazed by improper tempeting. Still, I think you should look more carefully."
Claude looked again.
"No, not there. There."
Claude discovered, on closer inspection, a discreet protrusion not unlike the extended wing of a lady bug.
"Push it," the Abbe said.
Claude pushed it. The back of the case popped open to reveal the same husband and wife, only this time ftom behind. They no longer wore the costumes seen on the front of the watch. No epaulettes for him, no lace bonnet for her. In fact, the husband and wife were naked. "The backside for their backsides, eh?" the Abbe said.
The hands of the officer now found prominent display, used as they were to caress his mistress. (Perhaps unfairly, the assumption of marriage was dropped.) Specifically, the lieutenant was stroking his partner's buttocks, whose shape reminded Claude of Kleinhoff's bastard musks.
The Abbe displayed another watchcase, this one with an enamel nun bent in prayer. The white mantle over dark-brown habit and the roughly painted face could leave no doubt that it was Sister Constance. The Abbe handed the piece over. "I call it The Defrocked Nun. Use your clasp knife to prize open the screen."
Claude lifted a smartly recessed screen and gawked at the disrobed Sister. She was receiving extreme unction from a well-endowed, if aged, prelate whose high station in the hierarchy of the Church was identifiable only by the miter perched on his head.
The Abbe took back the watchcases. "These, Claude, are the Hours of Love, discreetly ordered watches hiding indiscreetly disordered passions. They will be the object of our future manufacture. Let me explain. For years, I pursued my research without attention to cost. I inherited wealth and spent it willfully and at times extravagantly. I did my little experiments, built my big library, bought shells, apparatus, and, on a lark, the Wunderkammer of a minor Saxony prince. That is how I acquired the narwhal tusk, by the way. None of this would have diminished my legacy. You see, my father's avarice had made me a very rich man.
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