CHAPTER II.

THE STRASSBURGERS’ DILEMMA.

Two hundred years earlier than this time, the great architect Erwin von Steinbach had enlarged and beautified Strassburg Cathedral, and at about the same date, a clever artificer had contrived to make a curious mechanical clock. A wonderful work was this clock, and ever since, it has been the pride and admiration of the city. It told the time very well, and that is no doubt a desideratum in a clock; but it did much more than that, for it had a pert chanticleer who popped himself out of a little cupboard, and clapped his wings when the hour struck; then it had a tiny carillon which tinkled merrily; and so, take it for all in all, one would be a mere heretic to say that this horologe had not been in its time a good catholic clock, and creditably done its works of supererogation. But the clock was not infallible—indeed that word was not yet invented—and once or twice of late had not been up to time at all; and one fine day this old clock, having seen many a generation quietly laid to rest from their labours, began also to think and to feel itself past work, and struck—struck for the last time.

Now, whether it is some dear one whom the good God has taken home to a better world, or whether it is only your pet but worn-out saucepan which cooked omelettes and other galimafries as no other saucepan ever can, it is so very disagreeable to find yourself suddenly without what you have been so long used to call your own. You feel aggrieved and injured beyond measure, and wish you had treated your possessions better while you had them; and so it was with the Strassburgers and their clock.

“It has no business to wear out,” said one.

“The Town Council ought to have seen to it long ago,” said another; “but there, what can one expect from such a pack of old women!”

“It is a shame. How am I ever to tell now when my Hans is coming in to dinner? And if it is not ready to the minute, he always growls like six bears!” sighed a good wife.

“Kunz will always be pretending now he didn’t know it was so late!” scolded another whose spouse was somewhat inordinately devoted to the shrine of the “Golden Bull” opposite.

“Rudolf will never be keeping his tryst properly by the river now!” sighed a maiden.

“What’s the use of a clock that won’t go? tell me that, gentlemen!” thundered Burgomaster Niklaus von Steinbach, at the next assembled Town Council. And then everybody went to look at the clock, setting their arms a-kimbo, and scowling and frowning. It was all of no use however; there was the clock, and there still as death were its hands, the long one at eleven, and the short one at twelve, and not one hundredth part of an inch further would they budge—no, not if my Lord Bishop himself had anathematized them with bell, book, and candle. But the Bishop only said: “My children, things will wear out; we must have a new clock”.

And the Town Council said that was a happy thought of my Lord’s; and forthwith a resolution was put and unanimously carried, and then drawn up by the town-clerk on a stupendously lengthy roll of parchment, to the effect that the cathedral clock being worn out, it was desirable a new one should be commenced. Moreover, that aforesaid clock, having been a work of considerable ingenuity and skill, it was but just and right, and proper, that the new Horologe should, in every particular equal, and if such a thing were possible, surpass its predecessor. And to this end, only one truly and greatly versed in the curious science of horology, should be entrusted with the preparation, and building up, and putting together of such Horologe. Therefore this was to give notice to all whom it might concern, being those mechanicians and artificers who felt in themselves that they were competent and able to undertake so great a work as the making of the aforesaid Horologe—that these aforementioned mechanicians, mathematicians, and artificers in horology should make ready their plans, and devices, and designs, and send them in on a certain day, for the consideration, and selection, and choosing, by the most honourable and well-born Town Council.

Further, it was made known to these competitors, that on its completion, an adequate sum should be awarded out of the municipal treasury to the successful candidate and maker, and deviser, of the Horologe. And furthermore, all men were to know, that the day on which aforesaid Horologe should be completed, was to be celebrated throughout the city as a festival day, and a general and universal holiday.

Here was a good chance for somebody! and all the candidates set to work, and began to make their estimates, and then, the appointed date having arrived, they sent them in. There was a good round dozen of competitors, but the greater number of them were soon distanced; and the choice at last lay between three, Chretei Herlin, and his two pupils, Conrad Dasipodius and Otto von Steinbach. Opinion differed almost uproariously as to the merits of those three designs. Some admired Otto von Steinbach’s vastly. It was so showy, and had as many painting and gilding capabilities as a piece of gingerbread; as to the inside of it, well—there, what did that signify? who would ever see the inside of it? Some folks did so love to quibble over trifles. Wasn’t Otto von Steinbach descended from the great and famous architect Irwin von Steinbach, and what could any one want more? Nevertheless, many grumbled and said, if it had not been for his name, Otto would have been out of the running altogether; and certainly he had no right to have been even a bad third. Otto, however, counted on the influence of his uncle Niklaus the Burgomaster; but he was out in his reckoning, for Niklaus said his nephew’s design could not hold a candle to the one submitted by Conrad Dasipodius; and Otto said this was a crying shame and scandal for a man not to stand by his own flesh and blood, and that he did not deserve to have a nephew at all. Enlightened spirits who failed to see that ancestry had any voice in the question, balanced their decision very carefully, but the choice fell at last on Chretei Herlin. Meritorious and beautiful as Conrad’s design was declared to be, and even in some respects superior to Herlin’s, still, all things considered, they chose Herlin’s design, for the old monk was a tried and long-trusted man among them, and reputed, above all others, for experience in his craft.

Although proud of the distinction conferred on him, Chretei Herlin would have been well content to have seen Conrad Dasipodius entrusted with the work: “For,” said he, “I am long past my threescore now; and young brains are clearer than old ones, and Conrad’s plan was better than mine; but _Fiat Voluntas Tua Domine_; and if it please Thee, my poor mantle shall one day fall on the boy’s shoulders.” Then he set to work at the Horologe, and Conrad helped him.

It would have been out of all nature, if the younger mathematician had felt no pang of disappointment at the Town Council’s final decision. Dasipodius had spent time and infinite care over his design, but who can ever excel, without being thwarted once and again? Then too, compared with Herlin, Conrad thought himself as nothing. Who, indeed, was worthy to make the clock, but he who was to make it, Father Chretei? Otto von Steinbach, however, did not quite see things in the same light. “It was a shame,” he said, “every way. The old man was already in his dotage; he might have had talent in his day, but nearly all the designs had been handsomer than Herlin’s, and certainly he did not hesitate to consider his own immeasurably superior. As for Conrad’s designs, they were poor, decidedly poor. The fellow, you see, was such a slow coach. Why, to his knowledge, Dasipodius had spent nights and days concocting those few ideas of his, and putting them on paper; whereas he, Otto von Steinbach, had dashed his down in less than no time, just a scratch here, and a dot there, and you had it. Of course, if the Town Council could afford to set aside hereditary talent in this wholesale fashion, that was its business; but to his thinking, it was absurd that such pig-heads should be allowed to give rein to favour and prejudice in this way.” And these opinions Otto would air to each chance individual of his acquaintance whom he could buttonhole. It was a great theory with Otto von Steinbach, that “every thing in Strassburg went by favour and prejudice”.