# Works of Jules Verne/The Watch's Soul/Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV
THE CHURCH OF ST. PIERRE
Master Zacharius became more feeble in mind and body every day. An unusual excitement, indeed, impelled him to continue his work more eagerly than ever, nor could his daughter entice him from it. From morning till night discontented purchasers besieged the house, and they got access to the old watchmaker himself, who knew not which of them to listen to.
"This watch is too slow, and I cannot succeed in regulating it," said one.
"This," said another, "is absolutely obstinate, and stands still, as did Joshua's sun."
"If it is true," said most of them, "that your health has an influence on that of your watches, Master Zacharius, get well as soon as possible."
The old man gazed at these people with haggard eyes, and only replied by shaking his head, or by a few sad words: "Wait till the first fine weather, my friends. The season is coming which revives existence in wearied bodies. The sun must come to warm us all!"
"A fine thing, if my watches are to be ill through the winter!" said one of the most angry. "Do you know, Master Zacharius, that your name is inscribed in full on their faces? By the Virgin, you do little honor to your signature!"
It happened at last that the old man, abashed by these reproaches, took some pieces of gold from his old trunk, and began to buy back the damaged watches. At news of this, the customers came in a crowd, and the poor ​watchmaker's money fast melted away; but his honesty remained intact. Gerande warmly praised his delicacy, which was leading him straight towards ruin; and Aubert soon offered his own savings to his master.
Scholastique alone refused to listen to reason on the subject; but her efforts failed to prevent the unwelcome visitors from reaching her master, and from soon departing with some valuable object. Then her chattering was heard in all the streets of the neighborhood, where she had long been known. She eagerly denied the rumors of sorcery and magic on the part of Master Zacharius, which gained currency; but as at bottom she was persuaded of their truth, she said her prayers over and over again to redeem her pious falsehoods.
It had been noticed that for some time the old watchmaker had neglected his religious duties. Time was, when he had accompanied Gerande to church, and had seemed to find in prayer the intellectual charm which it imparts to thoughtful minds, as it is the most sublime exercise of the imagination. This voluntary neglect of holy practices, added to the secret habits of his life, had in some sort confirmed the accusations leveled against his labors. So, with the double purpose of drawing her father back to God and to the world, Gerande resolved to call religion to her aid. She thought that it might give some vitality to his dying soul; but the dogmas of faith and humility had to combat, in the soul of Master Zacharius, an insurmountable pride, and came into collision with that vanity of science which connects everything with itself, without rising to the infinite source whence first principles flow. It was under these circumstances that the young girl undertook her father's conversion, and her influence was so effective that the old watchmaker promised to attend high mass at the Cathedral on the following Sunday.
Old Scholastique could not contain her joy, and at last found irrefutable arguments against the gossiping tongues, which accused her master of impiety. She spoke of it to her neighbors, her friends, her enemies, to those whom she knew not as well as to those whom she knew.
"In faith, we scarcely believe what you tell us, dame Scholastique," they replied; "Master Zacharius has always acted in concert with the devil!"
​"You haven't counted, then," replied the old servant, "the fine bells which strike for my master's clocks? How many times they have struck the hours of prayer and the mass!"
"No doubt," they would reply. "But has he not invented machines which go all by themselves, and which actually do the work of a real man?"
"Could a child of the devil," exclaimed dame Scholastique, wrathfully, "have executed the fine iron clock of the château of Andermatt, which the town of Geneva was not rich enough to buy? A pious motto appeared at each hour, and a Christian who obeyed them would have gone straight to Paradise! Is that the work of the devil?"
This masterpiece, made twenty years before, had carried Master Zacharius's fame to its acme; but even then there had been accusations against him of sorcery. At least, the old man's visit to the Cathedral would reduce malicious tongues to silence.
The Sunday so ardently anticipated by Gerande at last arrived. The weather was fine, and the temperature inspiriting. The people of Geneva were passing quietly through the streets, gayly chatting about the return of spring. Gerande, tenderly taking the old man's arm, directed her steps towards the Cathedral, while Scholastique followed behind with the prayer-books. People looked curiously at them as they passed. The old watchmaker permitted himself to be led like a child, or rather like a blind man. The faithful of Saint Pierre were almost frightened when they saw him cross the threshold, and shrank back at his approach.
The chants of high mass were already resounding through the church. Gerande advanced to her accustomed bench, and kneeled with profound and simple reverence. Master Zacharius remained standing beside her.
The ceremonies continued with the majestic solemnity of that pious age, but the old man had no faith. He did not implore the pity of Heaven with cries of anguish of the "Kyrie"; he did not, with the "Gloria in Excelsis," sing the splendors of the celestial heights; the reading of the Testament did not draw him from his materialistic revery, and he forgot to join in the homage of the "Credo." This proud old man remained motionless, as insensible and ​silent as a stone statue; and even at the solemn moment when the bell announced the miracle of transubstantiation, he did not bow his head, but gazed directly at the sacred host which the priest raised above the heads of the faithful. Gerande looked at her father, and a flood of tears moistened her missal.
At this moment the clock of Saint Pierre struck half past eleven. Master Zacharius turned quickly towards this ancient clock which he had regulated and which still spoke. It seemed to him as if its face was gazing steadily at him; the figures of the hours shone as if they had been engraved in lines of fire, and the hands darted forth electric sparks from their sharp points.
The mass ended. It was customary for the "Angelus" to be said at noon, and the priests, before leaving the altar, waited for the clock to strike the hour of twelve. In a few moments this prayer would ascend to the feet of the Virgin. But suddenly a harsh noise was heard. Master Zacharius uttered a piercing cry.
The large hand of the clock, having reached twelve, had abruptly stopped, and the clock did not strike the hour.
Gerande hastened to her father's aid. He had fallen down motionless, and they carried him outside the church. "It is the death-blow!" murmured Gerande, sobbing.
When he had been borne home, Master Zacharius lay upon his bed utterly crushed. Life seemed only to still exist on the surface of his body, like the last whiffs of smoke about a lamp just extinguished.
When he came to his senses, Aubert and Gerande were leaning over him. At this supreme moment the future took in his eyes the shape of the present. He saw his daughter alone, without support. "My son," said he to Aubert, "I give my daughter to thee."
So saying, he stretched out his hand towards his two children, who were thus united at his death-bed.
But soon Master Zacharius lifted himself up in a paroxysm of rage. The words of the little old man recurred to his mind. "I do not wish to die!" he cried; "I cannot die! I, Master Zacharius, ought not to die! My books,—my accounts!"
He sprang from his bed towards a book in which the names of his customers, and the articles which had been ​sold to them, were inscribed. He seized it and rapidly turned over its leaves, and his emaciated thumb fixed itself on one of the pages.
"There!" he cried, "there! this old iron clock, sold to Pittonaccio! It is the only one that has not been returned to me! It still exists, it goes, it lives! Ah, I wish for it, I must find it! I will take such care of it that death will no longer seek me!" And he fainted away.
Aubert and Gerande knelt by the old man's bedside, and prayed together.
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