Notre Dame and Robo-Jesus

Of all the wonders inside the Notre Dame de Strasbourg, by far the best known is the Astronomical Clock. It was originally built in the 1500s, but because the iron gears within had worn down over the centuries it broke down, and was rebuilt in the 19th century.

The clock is a mix of high-art and kitsch, mechanical spectacle and pious wonder, all assembled with awe-inspiringly meticulous, effort and inspired brilliance.

First, the kitsch. The main attraction of the clock happens every day at 12:30 PM: while impressive, it is in effect a Holy Cuckoo Clock.


_{The original clock cock, now in the Rohan museum}

I can’t narrate it much better than the video below, but in essence, a cherub and an old man strike their repective bells four times. The old man passes in front of the figure of death, to be replaced by an infant, to symbolize the new hour. Death strikes his bell twelve times. Above, the dozen apostles pass in front of Jesus, each bowing to take His Robotic Blessing, legs swinging to mimic walking. A rooster-automaton flaps its wings and crows three times. At the end of it all, Our Clockwork Saviour makes the sign of the cross to bless the assembled crowd.



It is surreal, sublime, and ridiculous. It occurs every day at 12:30, rather than on the hour, as the Priests were so sick of their congregations peering into the corner to watch the show that they changed the time so as to prevent the interruption.


_{A slightly closer, though blurry view of Death (lower level) and Robo-Jesus (upper level). On the bottom, the half-moon}

To modern eyes, this aspect of the clock seems more than a little ridiculous - meaningless razzamatazz, designed to entertain. Yet I can’t help but notice that inevitably, when the carved hand of Death strikes the hour, a chilled hush will fall over even the most cynical crowd of digital-camera-wielding 21st century travelers.

Very few of the hundreds of the visitors who see this show every day stick around to inspect the clock with any rigour, which is a shame, because they miss the true wonder of the device. Robo-Jesus is a mere ornament – the clock was designed to do no less than to describe the workings of the known universe.

All of the known heavens are here: the black globe in front show the positions of the stars from Strasbourg. The disk on the clock’s base show where the sun is relative to Strasbourg, while arrows demonstrate the relative positions of sunrise and sunset. A golden ring rotates throught the year – Apollo’s arrow points at today’s date, on which the day’s Saint is inscribed.

A rotating carousel spins through the week, the Norse Gods chasing each other on their chariots, each emblazoned with a day of the week. Above this, a ball – half black, half golden, describes the phases of the moon, spinning over 28 1/4 days.


_{Are we there yet?}

Above this, another massive disk. A golden metal sun adorns the middle, orbited by representations of the known planets, some completing their rounds every 88 days, others taking 11 years.


_{The solar system, or what was then known of it. Note the astrological symbols. Painting in the corners represent the four seasons}

The calculations to design the mechanics for any one of these time periods is impressive enough. But they weren’t done as one: the machines work together. The clock keeps track of the moving holidays, such as Easter. Easter happens on the first Sunday following the first full moon following the Spring equinox. That means that the mechanism that keeps track of the relative position of sunrise and sunset is correlated to the one that keeps track of the moon’s phases, which is correlated to the one that keeps track of the days of the week.

The calculations involved are mind boggling – each wheel in this machine has to be the right size, turning at the right time, meshing with thousands of other wheels, keeping track of units of time as short as one minute and as long as dozens of years, and yet be adaptable to measure moving dates.

Of course, that’s not all. The clock is decorated all over with paintings, all of which are on the theme of time – specifically on how nothing man does can withstand it. Creation is balanced with Judgement Day. The Great Empires of Persia, Assyria, Rome and Greece appear, largely to remind people that they all fell into history’s dustbin. Seemingly healthy people luxuriating with their wine and food are stalked by the shadow of death.

It all kind of puts your Timex to shame, doesn’t it?

Deja vu

_{Where Donna Summer goes to pray}

Amynah and I have now been here for a year, meaning that we’re now experiencing things for the second time. For instance, each year the city sponsors a light show on the Cathedral, synchronized with classical music. It lasts about fifteen minutes and happens three times a night, every night, for the whole summer. Last year’s was all-Mozart, in honour of the 300th (I am not going to check that for accuracy) anniversary of his visit to this city.* Last year, before we had a lot of books or friends, it stood in as our t.v., playing plotless re-runs at top volume every night. This year it’s a mix of twangy modern stuff and bits of Beethoven’s Ninth.

They also have a nightly light show on the river – last year there were laser fountains and vomiting gargoyles. I regret not taking pictures, because this year there are strobe lights and bad French poetry. When my cousin Stephen was visiting we wandered the length of the island, looking for something even marginally entertaining, only to be accosted by a city volunteer who asked us what we thought. Being Canadian, I told her I thought it was great, and that we don’t have things like this in North America, when really I should have told her that I’ve had more entertainment with a flashlight and shadow puppets.


_{Before the crowds. View from our window}

This weekend was the Braderie, which I understand is a French tradition. Effectively, it is a giant yard sale for retailers desperate to get rid of their summer stock, not to mention itinerant merchants hawking cheap sunglasses and skanky lingerie.** It makes the St Laurent street sale in Montreal look like a kid's lemonade stand. In any case, good deals are possible, if you can get to them. The entire island turned into a giant outdoor mall, and people from all over Alsace and the nearby bits of Germany packed into the streets, wandering like stunned cattle while being hectored by mega-phone wielding mop salesmen.

I ended up getting myself some new shoes, which I purchased and continue to love despite the fact they pinch my toes and will make to me walk like C3PO.


_{Your feet want to be my feet, admit it}

* He stayed in a building down our street known today as La Mauresse or, in English “The Black Lady” named after one of the owner's more exotic servants in the 1500s. Strasbourg wasn't exactly the most cosmopolitan place back then: "Hey, you guys remember that black lady who used to work in the house where that Austrian fiddle player stayed? She sure was black, weren't she? Let's name the place after her!"

** Nothing against skanky lingerie, but who the heck buys from a sidewalk vendor in front of hundreds of bargain-hunting French grannies?