The Cathedral was finished, and the city magistrates resolved to place
an ingenious clock on the upper tower. For a long time they searched
in vain, but at last a master was found who offered to create a work
of art such as had never been seen in any land. The members of the
council were highly satisfied with this proposal, and the master began
his work.
Weeks and months passed, and when at last it was finished there was
general astonishment; the clock was indeed so wonderful that nothing
to match it could be found in the whole country. It marked not only
the hours but the days and months as well; a globe was attached to it
which also marked out the rising and the setting of the sun, and the
eclipses of that body and the moon could be seen at the same time as
they took place in nature. Every change was pointed out by Mercury's
wand, and every constellation appeared at the right time. Shortly
before the stroke of the clock a figure representing Death emerged
from the centre and sounded the full hour, while at the quarter and
half hours the statue of Christ came forth, repelling the destroyer
of all life. Added to all these wonders was a beautiful chime that
played melodious hymns.
Such was the marvellous clock in the cathedral of Strassburg. The
magistrates however proved themselves unworthy of their new
possession; pride and presumption got the better of them, making them
commit a most unjust and ungrateful action.
They desired their town to be the only one in the land which possessed
such a work of art, and in order to prevent the maker from making
another like it, they did not shrink from the vilest of crimes.
Taking advantage of the rumour that such a wonderful work could only
have been made by the aid of witchcraft, they accused the clock-maker
of being united with the devil, threw him into prison, and cruelly
condemned him to be blinded. The unhappy artist resigned himself to
his bitter fate without a murmur. The only favour he asked was that he
might be allowed to examine the clock once again before the judgment
was carried out. He said he wanted to arrange something in the works
which no one else could understand.
The crafty magistrates, being anxious to have the clock perfect,
granted him this request.
The artist filed, sawed, regulated here and there, and then was led
away, and in the same hour deprived of his sight.
The cruel deed was hardly accomplished, when it was found that the
clock had stopped. The artist had destroyed his work with his own
hands; his righteous determination that the chimes would never ring
again, had become a melancholy truth. Up to the present no one has
been able again to set the dead works going. An equally splendid clock
now adorns the cathedral, but the remains of the first one have been
preserved ever since.