The Clockwork Toymaker and Other Fables

The Clockwork Toy-Maker

There is a certain poetic beauty, a special naive tragedy to be found in the medium of fairy-tale. It is a treasured form and one which I both cherish and enjoy. It is with this in mind that I sit to write this story and it is without cynicism or irony that I pen these starting words...

Once upon a time, among the ancient arches and whispering canals, lost somewhere among the self-conscious stonework and ageing abbeys, the rambling twists and turns of the town of B––, there lived a toy-maker. A toy-maker of such skill and renown that people traveled from the furthest corners of the world to see creations that word of mouth could describe only as... indescribable.

None had ever met the toy-maker, but it was said that the toys themselves, miracles of clockwork and common lace, communicated, to all who saw them, a life of their own. They were magical machines and the toy-maker had long been proclaimed genius. Like so many geniuses, however, the toy-maker was given to certain, whimsical, flights of fancy.

Barring extreme reclusiveness, the most particular of these was an unwillingness to exhibit more than one toy at a time.

Ritualistically, it seemed, at every summer's end, a new toy was unveiled and paraded through the streets of the town. Past the shop-front facades and against the lyric tones of evening revelry, each year saw the arrival of ever more enchanting creations – basic rag-dolls replaced by Piroesques and then magnificent clockwork ballerinas.

The subjects of the toy-maker's endeavors were always perfect studies in female form – perfect from the first ever model – and yet somehow ever more beguiling with each passing year.

And as for the old models, they were put away, never to be seen again by human eye.

There was many a traveler who made an annual pilgrimage to B–– simply to see what the toy-maker had built, to gaze upon the newest creation, and to wonder enigmatically about the disappearance of the old. With respect to what they saw, they were never disappointed.

Understandably, however, visitors often grew covetous of the dolls, longing to have them for themselves; the perfect forms built, they believed, purely for their own pleasure. They felt it unfair that the toy-maker should discard the old models, which they vowed could bring them perfect joy forever. As none had ever seen the toy-maker, none had ever been able to ask what became of the older dolls and everyone assumed that they were kept locked up in the toy-maker's workshop; a crime, they believed, for they did not see why the joy could not be shared, could not be purchased...

Time passed. And then one particular summer, during the magical month of June, a traveler came to town. A traveler from the lost corner of the world where tell of the toy-maker had not yet spread.

While out walking the winding streets of the old town, headed with no certainty toward the abbey in its midst, the traveler spied the toy-maker's latest doll – a pure-faced, white-laced dancer, who spun with grace and imperium on a golden pedestal. With no forewarning of the creature's clockwork nature the traveler took the doll for a forlorn and lovely maiden; he projected upon her solemn gaze a long and tragic history. And wondered, perhaps, if she needed saving.

Catching, he believed, a glimmer of recognition in her eyes, he approached her and set himself to conversation. The doll gave no reply. At first the traveler was saddened by this and felt a pang of rejection. But, as he looked closer, he realized he had made a mistake; whom he had taken for a maiden he saw to be a man-made creation. He apologized to the doll for his error and continued his slow paced wandering.

As he turned to go, however, the doll let out a cough. He turned back around and saw that the doll was smiling. The traveler was stunned.

But then the doll began to speak...

"Hello," said the doll, "Do not be alarmed."

"Oh," said the traveler, "At first I took you for a maiden, forlorn and in need of saving. But then, when you did not respond, I took you for a doll."

"Indeed," the doll replied, "I am a doll. Although I am, in point of fact, also a maiden."

The traveler was confused and looked squarely forward in puzzlement.

The doll continued: "And what is more," she said, "I am also a toy-maker. Of some repute I might add. This is an example of my work." She gestured at herself. And then she smiled.

The traveler was frozen by this statement for he had never met a talking maiden doll before, least of all one who was also a toy-maker and, he gathered, her own creator at that. He marshaled himself and finally found some words to speak:

"I am confused," he said, "So answer me, please, this question: You are a doll, but you are also a maiden; you are a creature to be coveted and a creature to be saved, and yet, as a toy-maker, you seem to be master of your own destiny. If you are indeed all these things, my question is this: do you, in fact, need saving?"

The doll-maiden-toy-maker raised an eyebrow and, looking the traveler squarely in the eye, she smiled.

And she said nothing.

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Thank you for reading!  If you enjoyed this, please remember to vote and I'd love to hear your comments, positive or negative.  Happy to receive feedback on corrections or clarifications, too.

I hope you also enjoy the other stories in this collection.