The figure in front of him was a woman. She was wearing a red ball gown, and had put up her blond hair in a bun as had been the fashion at court several hundred years before. Though she smiled at Simon with her full red lips, her face seemed lifeless and as white as a corpse. Suddenly her mouth opened wide and from somewhere inside her body came a soft, tinny melody.
It took Simon a while to realize what he heard was a glockenspiel. Tinkling and jingling, invisible hammers played the notes of an old love song.
“You… you… are…” he stammered.
“An automaton, I know. I’m sorry I can’t offer you the company of a real woman. On the other hand, Aurora will never turn into a cranky old shrew; she’ll remain forever young and beautiful.”
At this point a little man stepped out from behind the life-size doll. Startled, Simon realized this was the same crippled monk who’d been arguing with Brother Johannes just a few hours ago. Simon tried to remember the monk’s name. The abbot had mentioned it in the abbot’s study. “What was it? Brother…?”
“Brother Virgilius,” the little hunchbacked man replied, reaching out one hand while supporting himself with the other on a walking stick decorated with ivory and a silver knob. A shy smile passed over his face. “Haven’t we met before?”
“This morning in front of the apothecary’s house,” Simon murmured. “I was there to pick up some herbs for my wife: anise, artemisia, and silverweed for stomach pains.”
A shadow passed over the face of the wizened little man. He was probably over fifty, but everything about him seemed as delicate as a child. “I remember,” he said in a monotone. “I hope Brother Johannes was able to help your wife. He’s no doubt a good apothecary, just a bit… short-tempered.” Again a smile spread over his face. “But let’s talk about something more pleasant. Do you speak Latin? Are you perhaps a friend of the sciences?”
Simon introduced himself in a few words, then pointed to the strange devices all around. “This room is the most fascinating place I’ve ever seen. What is your profession, if I may ask?”
“I’m a watchmaker,” Brother Virgilius replied. “The monastery gives me the option of pursuing my profession and at the same time… uh… experimenting a bit.” He winked at Simon. “A few moments ago you were the unintentional witness of a reenactment of von Guericke’s Magdeburg hemispheres experiment.”
“Magdeburg hemispheres?” Simon looked at the little monk, puzzled. “I fear I don’t quite understand.”
Casually, Brother Virgilius pointed to a soot-stained copper globe the size of a child’s head resting on a charred table behind him. “The fascinating power of a vacuum,” he started to explain. “In an experiment carried out at the Reichstag in Regensburg, the inventor Otto von Guericke put two halves of a hemisphere together and pumped the air out, forming a vacuum. Sixteen horses weren’t able to pull the hemispheres apart again. It’s not even possible with the destructive force of gunpowder.” He sighed. “Quod erat demonstrandum. My lily-livered assistant fled up to the attic before the explosion. Vitalis? Viiitaaalis!” The little monk pounded his cane impatiently on the floor until a shy young man appeared from an adjacent room. He was probably not even eighteen yet and so delicate in stature that Simon at first took him to be a girl.
“This is Vitalis, a novitiate at the monastery,” Brother Virgilius introduced him brusquely. “He seldom says a word, but his fingers are so slender he can place even the smallest gear in a clock mechanism. Isn’t that right, Vitalis?”
Shyly, with downcast eyes, the novitiate bowed. “I do my best,” he whispered. “Is there something I can do, master?”
“If you weren’t here to observe the experiment, then at least make yourself useful afterward,” Virgilius growled. “I’m afraid we’ll need a new table. Go and see if Brother Martin has another in his carpentry shop.”
“Very well, master.”
With a final bow, Vitalis left, and the monk turned again to Simon. “What do you think of my Aurora?” He pointed at the automaton. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Simon furtively eyed the doll still standing motionless beside him and smiling. Only now did he notice little wheels under the dress where feet should have been. “Indeed, a… a miracle of technology,” he murmured, “even though I must confess I still prefer real people.”
“Balderdash! Believe me, the day will come when we won’t be able to distinguish between real people and automata.” Brother Virgilius hobbled around the doll and turned a screw in Aurora’s back, until the soft melody returned. The automaton opened its mouth and rolled through the room as if drawn by invisible threads. In the darkened room, it looked in fact like a refined lady dressed for a fancy ball in Paris.
“The glockenspiel, the mouth, and the wheels are driven by watch springs and cylinders,” the monk declared proudly. “At present I’m working on making the hands moveable, as well, so Aurora can dance a bourree. Who knows, maybe someday she’ll be able to write letters and play the spinet.”
“Who knows?” Simon whispered. The longer he looked at the automaton, the more sinister it seemed. As if he were watching a vengeful spirit floating through the dark room.
“And the monastery?” he asked hesitantly. “What does the church say about your experiments?”
Brother Virgilius shrugged. “Abbot Maurus is an enlightened man who can easily distinguish between faith and science. Besides, the monastery benefits from my abilities.” With a blissful smile he watched the doll make a wide circle through the room, bells tinkling. “But of course, there is also resistance.”
“Brother Johannes, I assume?” asked Simon curiously.
“Brother Johannes?” The little monk turned away from his automaton and stared at Simon in disbelief.
“My apologies,” replied the medicus, raising his hand, “I saw you both engaged in that violent dispute this morning.”
After a moment, Virgilius’s face brightened. “Of course. Johannes. You’re right. As I’ve already said, he’s an impulsive man who sometimes lacks the necessary vision. We’ve argued frequently in the past,” he continued, lowering his eyes, “but this time I almost feared for my life. Johannes can be very hot-tempered, you know, which may have something to do with his past.”
“What kind of past?” Simon inquired. At this moment the glockenspiel stopped. An ugly squeal came from inside the automaton, and Brother Virgilius rushed over to it.
“Curses,” he hissed. “Probably a loose screw again in the clockwork. Can’t you just for once run smoothly without breaking down, you stubborn woman?”
He undid the back of Aurora’s red dress, revealing an iron plate. Mumbling softly to himself, he extracted a tiny screwdriver from beneath his robe and began to unscrew the plate on the doll’s back. He seemed to have completely forgotten Simon in an instant.
“It… it was nice to have met you,” Simon mumbled, smoothing his jacket with his hand. “I’ll probably have to…”
“What?” Virgilius looked Simon up and down as if he were a stranger who’d just entered the room. “Oh, naturally. The pleasure was all mine, but now please excuse me; I have a lot to do. Damn!” Again he bent to inspect the automaton’s back, and Simon turned to leave.
Stepping outside into the blinding bright sunlight, the medicus had to shield his eyes. He could still hear the mumbling watchmaker inside.
Moments later the soft melody of the glockenspiel began again.
Magdalena sipped on a cup of mulled wine and tried to come to grips with the terror of the last hour. Still trembling slightly, she leaned back on the hard corner bench and from there observed everything going on in the monastery tavern, which she’d entered on a whim.
At the noon hour, the inn at the foot of the Holy Mountain was packed: A few richly clad merchants had ordered a boar’s leg with white bread, and its fatty juice dribbled down their beards and chins. A group of pious pilgrims sat together in one corner over a steaming bowl of stew. Smoke from tobacco and a wood fire hung heavily over the tables, and the air was full of the humming and buzzing of many conversations.