The Gilded Sonnerie

It is a fictional story about a clockmaker of the encounter with a ghost.

It was a carriage clock and quite wonderful. Great for the way it was fully 10 inches tall. It was from 1826, found engraved on the base. Typically French, it was the highest art form of watches, the lever and relaxation of the movement pierced and shaped whirling, swirling patterns of aesthetic enjoyment.

It was what the so-called Grande sonnerie strike or large. It would strike the hours on a bell, and then the quarter hours on a small gong. For example, at quarter past seven, it would strike seven times at the bell, and then once on the gong. At half, seven and then twice on the gong, and so on. It had a perpetual calendar, which I confess, I have considerable difficulty, an alarm mechanism that was simple, and there was also a repeater. A small button at the top of the case could be depressed, the action on a table in the context of the case and the previous quarter hour and would Struck.

repeater, now are anachronisms, but intriguing additions. In these days we have digital clocks that light and see if we roll over in bed at night, but in the old days, the repeater was very necessary.

The case was gilded, with columns and beautifully executed, flowers and leaves which they surrounded. The handle at the top was a circular wreath folded, that when not in use.

I removed the motion from the case very carefully maintained and cleaned, she had the idea for his condition. It belonged to a man who has a fine collection of clock, and this was his latest acquisition. He has not really tell me how much they cost, but he said that the tender was high. He bought it from one of the smaller houses in Paris, Artcurial, and noted in advance that the clock did not work. It was probably someone sitting on the shelf for a hundred years, all the oil-hardening in the cones and bearings. But now, it was back to its former glory - with the exception of one silly little mistake. It was perfectly all the hours, unless increased by 12 clock. He proposed 13-times! 1 a.m. to 11 p.m., no problem, then with your hands at 12, that the wretched count thirteen.

I have been paid for this restoration, and there was no hurry at work, but it was just one of those silly little mistakes that when NOS. Nobody had "butchered" the movement, thank God, so that nothing makes sense. I pulled every trick in the book, and some who do not, but without success. I have a whole day trying to puzzle the problem. It was an answer, it was necessary, but for the moment, I am deprived.

my workshop in what was the car port attached to the house. I decided it a night at about 9 clock, went three steps into the kitchen and from there to the salon. I poured me a good single malt and absent watched television in an effort, in my opinion the problem. The whiskey has his work, and I went to bed at about eleven.

I slept sporadically for about an hour, and then woke up and twisted around two clock morning. Slightly more than idle curiosity drew me to the shop. It was as if I had to go. I can not explain, but I slipped on a T-shirt and trousers, which my way through the kitchen, on the steps the business - and remained dead. I shivered involuntarily. A green light ethereal drove around the bank and the spectral image of a man standing behind him, the movement of the clock, on which I worked.

He wore a coat and a shapeless Beret. He lifted his head and looked at me, a smile slowly drifting over his face.

"Je La Fabrique, M'sieur," he said in a gentle voice.

He was the creator of this masterpiece. I knew that instinctively. He presented the movement back to the bank with an infinite tenderness, and suddenly I felt incredibly tired. Nothing counted except sleep. I turned, mixed into bed and slept to 9 clock in the morning. I jumped up, showered, shaved and went directly into the shop. It was the movement, if it is left. I have tried to strike. One, two, all the way to eleven. Then the final assessment. Another thirteen? But no. Twelve clock. My nightly visitors had come to its own repair.

I always like in the shop, but now it is a kind of comfort, as if the old watchmaker still just about me from beyond the veil.

 

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