1. ...of which Voltaire wrote in 1756: "This
agglomeration which was called and which still calls itself the Holy
Roman Empire is neither holy, nor Roman, nor an Empire."
2. It was, however, a German maker who exported
several clocks (with brass pendulum rods) to the Mediterranean regions,
and very soon heard that the clocks were not running to time---they were
slow. Not wishing to suffer a blow to his reputation, the maker
dispatched his senior journeyman (a Master who had not yet paid his
Guild Fees) to correct the problem. Upon his arrival, this journeyman
unpacked his (brass) instruments and measuring devices, but could find
no error. Years later someone realized that the brass instruments
expanded at the same rate as the pendulum rods. From: Über den Pendelschlag
Astronomischen Uhren, 1792. Ottmar Tützling, Uhrmacher.
1
Toward the middle of the 19th century these very popular clocks began
to appear with 'seconds' hands, very likely added as a sales-promoting
device.
In a Vienna regulator with an 80-beat pendulum and a 30-tooth escape
wheel (a rather common configuration), the 'seconds' hand makes one
revolution in 45 seconds, yet at the same time, clocks were made with
40-tooth escape wheels in which the 'seconds' hand makes one revolution
in one minute. To further compound this anomaly, many of these 80-beat,
30- and 40-tooth escape wheel clocks have 'seconds' dials that are
marked with the numbers 15, 30, 45, and 60--obviously incorrect. Other
clocks have been noted with 80 dial divisions of the seconds track,
without any number marks, and some are marked with 20, 40, 60, and 80!
The entire situation is confusing, and in some cases, disruptively
confusing. There is a case on record in which the new owner of a
gorgeous Vienna regulator in the Biedermeier style, blissfully unaware
of the quarter minute difference, idly measured his heartbeat against
the 'seconds hand' of his clock and had a 'resting-rate' pulse of 56!
Somewhat worried, he consulted his doctor, and was quickly assured that
his pulse was 'normal.' After several repetitions, he noticed that his
doctor began avoiding him, and rumors concerning his eccentricity began
to circulate within the medical fraternity. Another owner, whose clock
had an otherwise unmarked 'seconds' dial with the 80 divisions marked
(the movement used a 40 tooth escape wheel), similarly attempted a pulse
count, watching the second hand as it 'jumped' 80 times around the
dial. He immediately noted that his pulse lagged the second hand
considerably--it would normally lead the second hand--and hied himself
off to his physician, once again with predictable results.
But why did the Viennese makers take the trouble to redesign the train
to accommodate an 80-beat pendulum? 60-beat pendulæ--the Royal
pendulum--were the norm after the successive inventions of the recoil
and deadbeat escapements, and had an adequately accurate seconds
indication. The earliest clocks, known as lanterndlur--"lantern
clocks"--because of their resemblance to a similarly glazed lantern--did
indeed use the 60-beat pendulum, and only later did the 80-beat pendulum
appear. With an exposed and nearly always elaborate pendulum bob, there
was no need for a seconds hand moving on the dial to indicate that the
clock was still running. Besides, a Vienna regulator with a pendulum
beating seconds would have had an even more impressive case to hang on
the wall. An examination of possible reasons for this re-design and
the logic therefor follow.
2
A tall-case clock my violinist wife quite treasures
(an early brass-dial David Stephen, made in the small fishing village
of Johnshaven on Scotland's northeast coast) stands in her practice room
beside her music-stand. Her favorite composer is Johann Strauss the
Younger, the Viennese 'Waltz King', and on the particular day which is
the birth date of this paper, she was practicing a waltz, and had set
her metronome to 80 beats per minute--a normal waltz tempo. The fairly
quiet tick of the clock doesn't bother her, but on this occasion, before
she began playing, I noted (I had been drafted to turn pages) an odd
phenomenon as the metronome and the clock both ticked away. Every third
tick of the clock was reinforced by a simultaneous tick from the
metronome--the metronome was set for the traditional 80 beat 3/4
time--and naturally the clock was ticking along at 60 beats.
Intrigued, I did not stop either the clock or the metronome, but
resolved on some minor musico/horological research. At one time I had
85 or so clocks running--all over the house and my workroom--and I
recall that one particular (American) Waterbury OOG with a distinctively
loud and obstreperous tick always
disagreed with all the other clocks--its beat would synchronize with that of
another clock for a mere moment, and then immediately and annoyingly
drift out of synchrony. It wasn't long before that clock began to sleep
at night; coincidentally, at about the same time my insomnia was
miraculously cured.
Curiosity had earlier led us to take a quick look at the origins of the
metronome, that small born-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-blankets relative of
the clock. It has a widely (and wildly) adjustable beat, and thereby
is a device whose design is in complete opposition to the centuries-long
search for the perfect timekeeper. The metronome was invented in about
1812 by Dietrich Nikolaus Winkler in Amsterdam, but a Johann Nepomuk
Maelzel copied (some aver he stole) the design, added a scale of tempo
divisions to the stick of the compound pendulum, and patented the device
as a "metronome." To this day it is known as a Maelzel Metronome, and
an indication on a musical score of "M.M. = 80", informs the musician
that the Maelzel Metronome should be set to a tempo (beat) of 80
(usually quarter) notes per minute.
It is common knowledge in the medical and musical worlds that human
beings (although most of us are completely unaware of this) are most
comfortable with a rhythm repeating their own pulse rate--normally
approximately 72 beats per minute--and that this can (and does) create
problems for musicians and conductors who unconsciously retard or speed
up their tempi during a performance. No two persons have precisely the
same heart tempo, and it is notable that a heart transplant patient3
requires some time to become accustomed to the new heartbeat, should it
by chance vary significantly from the beat to which the patient became
acclimated even before birth.
3. Apparent Physio-Patho-Psychological Causes and Effects
of Perceived Cardiac Arrhythmiæ (Purkinje tissue defects);
J. O. Denis in POPULAR PSYCHOMETRICS:
and Neurocirculatory Asthenia Syndrome (Paroxysmal Tachycardia) in
Post-cardiac-transplant Patients, C. Porter in NONE BUT THE LONELY HEART.
3
The modern waltz, which itself is derived from an earlier
dance, is best described by the Harvard Dictionary of Music as:
"...a couple dance in triple time,4
[although] considered a daring, even risqué, intrusion from the lower
classes into the polite world, it evolved into a symbol of grace,
sophistication, and elegance." A tempo of 80 beats per minute is a
common notation for the waltz, as it is fairly fast (but not too fast)
even though one's heartbeat whilst waltzing invariably rises somewhat
above 80 beats per minute. By 1780 (and please note the coincidence in
dates), the waltz had gained wide favor throughout Europe--particularly
so in Vienna---where it was later spurred on to even greater heights of
popularity by the likes of Joseph Lanner (1801-1843), and his
successor, Johann Strauss the Elder (1804-1849), once a violinist in
Lanner's orchestra, and, of course, Johann the Elder's son---Johann
Strauss the Younger (1825-1899). Johann the Younger was a violinist and
a composer who wrote the immortal An der schönen blauen Donau,
(The Blue Danube), as well as Geschichten aus dem Wienerwald
(Tales of the Vienna Woods), and Wein, Weib, und Gesang
(Wine, Women, and Song). |
the orchestras playing in the
Burgtheater, the Opernhaus,
and in the glittering ballrooms of the wealthy (well on into the night)
all conspired to remind one of the city's fascination---indeed, its
obsession---with the music that to this day is its signature, and some
would say; its heartbeat. Several conclusions should be immediately
obvious to the perceptive student of horology in reading through this
abbreviated tour of the history of the Vienna regulator, its distant
relative; the metronome, and the waltz. First, that there is obviously
no accident in the coincidence of the musical tempo preferred in this
most popular of Viennese dances, and in the use of 80-beat pendulums in
these highly esteemed clocks which also found their highest expression
in that same city. Second, there can be no doubt that the use of this
particular pendulum length is the result of a distinct (although
probably unconsciously acquired) evolutionary preference for the tempo
of the ticking of this clock. Third, in that human beings feel most
comfortable with a familiar tempo, whether it be their own heartbeat, or
that of a favorite waltz tune running through one's head, it should not
be at all surprising that the---perhaps subliminally acquired---tempo
of der Waltzer tanzen, that "daring, even risqué, intrusion from
the lower classes", with its subtle and subconscious appeal to that
which some consider "mankind's baser instincts", "evolved into a symbol
of grace, sophistication, and elegance", is the reason an 80-beat
pendulum is most commonly found in a Vienna regulator, itself a symbol
of grace, sophistication, and elegance.
About the Author:
Mr. Papparhegopoulous, currently residing on the
island of Corfu, (in his words; "That jewel of the wine-dark Ionian
Sea.") is a well-known authority on the Vienna regulator. He was the
James Arthur Lecturer on "Vienna Regulators: their Origins, Derivation,
Design, and Permutations", during the recent Seminar on European
Horology, and has published two highly acclaimed books on the technical
history of this clock type, with a special emphasis on the variations
found in the movements, dials, and cases of these superb and most
collectible clocks. His extensive personal collection and studies of
examples of this particular genre in the world of horology, and the
studies published in other venues by his wife Melina, an internationally
renowned violinist and expert on the compositions of Johann Strauss the
Younger, are the collaborative basis for this short dissertation on the
Vienna regulator, and of the physio-societal preferences and pressures
affecting its design.
5
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