matter, my Gerande?’ asked
Master Zacharius.
‘I do not know,’ replied the young girl.
‘But thou art changed, my child. Art thou
going to fall ill in thy turn? Ah, well,’ he added, with a sad smile, ‘then I
must take care of thee, and I will do it tenderly.’
‘O Father, it will be nothing. I am cold,
and I imagine that it is -’
‘What, Gerande?’
‘The presence of that man, who always
follows us,’ she replied in a low tone.
Master Zacharius turned towards the little
old man.
‘Faith, he goes well,’ said he, with a
satisfied air, ‘for it is just four o’clock. Fear nothing, my child; it is not
a man, it is a clock!’
Gerande looked at her father in terror. How
could Master Zacharius read the hour on this strange creature’s visage?
‘By-the-bye,’ continued the old watchmaker,
paying no further attention to the matter, ‘I have not seen Aubert for several
days.’
‘He has not left us, however, Father,’ said
Gerande, whose thoughts turned into a gentler channel.
‘What is he doing then?’
‘He is working.’
‘Ah!’ cried the old man. ‘He is at work
repairing my watches, is he not? But he will never succeed; for it is not repair
they need, but a resurrection!’
Gerande remained silent.
‘I must know,’ added the old man, ‘if they
have brought back any more of those accursed watches upon which the Devil has
sent this epidemic!’
After these words Master Zacharius fell
into complete silence, till he knocked at the door of his house, and for the
first time since his convalescence descended to his shop, while Gerande sadly
repaired to her chamber.
Just as Master Zacharius crossed the
threshold of his shop, one of the many clocks suspended on the wall struck five
o’clock. Usually the bells of these clocks – admirably regulated as they were –
struck simultaneously, and this rejoiced the old man’s heart: but on this day
the bells struck one after another, so that for a quarter of an hour the ear
was deafened by the successive noises. Master Zacharius suffered acutely: he
could not remain still, but went from one clock to the other, and beat the time
to them, like a conductor who no longer has control over his musicians.
When the last had ceased striking, the door
of the shop opened, and Master Zacharius shuddered from head to foot to see
before him the little old man, who looked fixedly at him and said, —
‘Master, may I not speak with you a few
moments?’
‘Who are you?’ asked the watchmaker abruptly.
‘A colleague. It is my business to regulate
the sun.’
‘Ah, you regulate the sun?’ replied Master
Zacharius eagerly, without wincing. ‘I can scarcely compliment you upon it.
Your sun goes badly, and in order to make ourselves agree with it, we have to
keep putting our clocks forward so much or back so much.’
‘And by the cloven foot,’ cried this weird
personage, ‘you are right, my master! My sun does not always mark noon at the same
moment as your clocks: but some day it will be known that this is because of
the inequality of the earth’s transfer, and a mean noon will be invented which
will regulate this irregularity!’
‘Shall I live till then?’ asked the old
man, with glistening eyes.
‘Without doubt,’ replied the little old
man, laughing. ‘Can you believe that you will ever die?’
‘Alas! I am very ill now.’
‘Ah, let us talk of that. By Beelzebub!
that will lead to just what I wish to speak to you about’
Saying this, the strange being leaped upon
the old leather chair, and carried his legs one under the other, after the
fashion of the bones which the painters of funeral hangings cross beneath
death’s heads. Then he resumed, in an ironical tone, —
‘Let us see, Master Zacharius, what is
going on in this good town of Geneva? They say that your health is failing,
that your watches have need of a doctor!’
‘Ah, do you believe that there is an
intimate relation between their existence and mine?’ cried
Master Zacharius.
‘I do not know,’ replied the young girl.
‘But thou art changed, my child. Art thou
going to fall ill in thy turn? Ah, well,’ he added, with a sad smile, ‘then I
must take care of thee, and I will do it tenderly.’
‘O Father, it will be nothing. I am cold,
and I imagine that it is -’
‘What, Gerande?’
‘The presence of that man, who always
follows us,’ she replied in a low tone.
Master Zacharius turned towards the little
old man.
‘Faith, he goes well,’ said he, with a
satisfied air, ‘for it is just four o’clock. Fear nothing, my child; it is not
a man, it is a clock!’
Gerande looked at her father in terror. How
could Master Zacharius read the hour on this strange creature’s visage?
‘By-the-bye,’ continued the old watchmaker,
paying no further attention to the matter, ‘I have not seen Aubert for several
days.’
‘He has not left us, however, Father,’ said
Gerande, whose thoughts turned into a gentler channel.
‘What is he doing then?’
‘He is working.’
‘Ah!’ cried the old man. ‘He is at work
repairing my watches, is he not? But he will never succeed; for it is not repair
they need, but a resurrection!’
Gerande remained silent.
‘I must know,’ added the old man, ‘if they
have brought back any more of those accursed watches upon which the Devil has
sent this epidemic!’
After these words Master Zacharius fell
into complete silence, till he knocked at the door of his house, and for the
first time since his convalescence descended to his shop, while Gerande sadly
repaired to her chamber.
Just as Master Zacharius crossed the
threshold of his shop, one of the many clocks suspended on the wall struck five
o’clock. Usually the bells of these clocks – admirably regulated as they were –
struck simultaneously, and this rejoiced the old man’s heart: but on this day
the bells struck one after another, so that for a quarter of an hour the ear
was deafened by the successive noises. Master Zacharius suffered acutely: he
could not remain still, but went from one clock to the other, and beat the time
to them, like a conductor who no longer has control over his musicians.
When the last had ceased striking, the door
of the shop opened, and Master Zacharius shuddered from head to foot to see
before him the little old man, who looked fixedly at him and said, —
‘Master, may I not speak with you a few
moments?’
‘Who are you?’ asked the watchmaker abruptly.
‘A colleague. It is my business to regulate
the sun.’
‘Ah, you regulate the sun?’ replied Master
Zacharius eagerly, without wincing. ‘I can scarcely compliment you upon it.
Your sun goes badly, and in order to make ourselves agree with it, we have to
keep putting our clocks forward so much or back so much.’
‘And by the cloven foot,’ cried this weird
personage, ‘you are right, my master! My sun does not always mark noon at the same
moment as your clocks: but some day it will be known that this is because of
the inequality of the earth’s transfer, and a mean noon will be invented which
will regulate this irregularity!’
‘Shall I live till then?’ asked the old
man, with glistening eyes.
‘Without doubt,’ replied the little old
man, laughing. ‘Can you believe that you will ever die?’
‘Alas! I am very ill now.’
‘Ah, let us talk of that. By Beelzebub!
that will lead to just what I wish to speak to you about’
Saying this, the strange being leaped upon
the old leather chair, and carried his legs one under the other, after the
fashion of the bones which the painters of funeral hangings cross beneath
death’s heads. Then he resumed, in an ironical tone, —
‘Let us see, Master Zacharius, what is
going on in this good town of Geneva? They say that your health is failing,
that your watches have need of a doctor!’
‘Ah, do you believe that there is an
intimate relation between their existence and mine?’ cried
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