Prevod

Whoever could do the most incredible thing was to have the king’s daughter and half the kingdom. The young people, and the old ones too, strained every thought, sinew, and muscle; two ate themselves to death and one drank himself to death, each according to his own idea of the most incredible thing, but that was not the way it was to be done. Little street boys practised spitting onto their own backs, which they considered the most incredible thing of all.

On an appointed day, everyone was to display whatever they had to offer as the most incredible thing. Judges had been chosen ranging from children of three to people well into their nineties. There was a whole exhibition of incredible things, but everyone soon agreed that the most incredible thing there was a great clock in a tall case, wonderfully ingenious both inside and out. At every hour, living scenes appeared to show what hour had struck; there were twelve whole performances, with moving figures, singing, and speech.

“That is the most incredible thing!” people said. The clock struck one, and Moses stood upon the mountain, writing on the tablets of the law the first commandment of the faith: “There is only one true God.”

The clock struck two, and there appeared the Garden of Eden, where Adam and Eve met, both happy, though they did not own so much as a wardrobe; nor did they need one.

At the stroke of three, the Three Wise Men appeared, one of them coal-black, which he could not help, for the sun had darkened him. They came bearing incense and precious gifts.

At the stroke of four came the seasons: spring with a cuckoo on a beech branch newly burst into leaf; summer with a grasshopper on a ripe ear of corn; autumn with an empty stork’s nest, for the bird had flown away; and winter with an old crow that could tell stories in the chimney corner, memories of long ago.

When the clock struck five, the five senses appeared: sight came as a spectacle-maker, hearing as a coppersmith, smell sold violets and sweet woodruff, taste was a cook, and touch an undertaker with mourning crape down to his heels.

The clock struck six: there sat a gambler, throwing a die, which landed with its highest side uppermost, showing six. Then came the seven days of the week, or the seven deadly sins—people could not agree which, for the two went together and were not easily separated.

Then came a choir of monks singing matins. At the stroke of nine followed the nine Muses; one was employed in astronomy, one in the historical archives, and the rest belonged to the theatre.

At the stroke of ten, Moses appeared again with the tablets of the law, on which were written all God’s commandments, and there were ten. The clock struck again, and little boys and girls came skipping and jumping, playing a game and singing as they went: “Bridge, bridge, archway, the clock has struck eleven!” And so it had.

Now it struck twelve, and out stepped the watchman in his cap, carrying his morning star, and sang the old watchman’s verse: “It was at the midnight hour that our Saviour was born!”

And as he sang, roses sprang up and turned into angels’ heads borne on rainbow-coloured wings. It was lovely to hear and beautiful to see. The whole thing was a matchless work of art, the most incredible thing of all, everyone said.

The artist was a young man, good-hearted, fond of children, a faithful friend, and a help to his poor parents; he deserved the princess and half the kingdom.

The day of the decision had come. The whole town was decked out in its finery, and the princess sat on the throne of the realm, which had been given fresh horsehair stuffing but had grown no more comfortable or pleasant to sit on. The judges all around cast knowing looks at the man who was to win, and he stood there cheerful and happy. His good fortune was assured; he had done the most incredible thing.

“No, I shall do that!” shouted a tall, bony strongman just then. “I am the man for the most incredible thing!” And he swung a great axe at the work of art.

“Crick! Crack! Smash!” There lay the whole thing. Wheels and springs flew in all directions; everything was destroyed! “That is what I could do!” said the man. “My deed has beaten his and beaten all of you; I have done the most incredible thing!”

“To destroy such a work of art!” said the judges. “Yes, that was the most incredible thing!” All the people said the same, and so he was to have the princess and half the kingdom, for a law is a law, even when it is the most incredible thing.

Trumpets sounded from the ramparts and all the towers of the town: “The wedding is to be celebrated!” The princess was not at all pleased about it, but she looked lovely and was splendidly dressed. The church blazed with lights late in the evening, when they look their best. The noble maidens of the town sang as they led the bride forward; the knights sang as they followed the bridegroom, who held himself as proudly erect as though nothing could ever break him.

Now the singing stopped, and it grew so quiet that one could have heard a pin fall to the floor. But in the midst of that silence, the great church door flew open with a crash and a bang, and—“Boom! Boom!”—the whole clockwork came marching up the aisle and took its place between bride and bridegroom. Dead people cannot return to haunt us, as we know very well, but a work of art can. Its body had been smashed to pieces, but not its spirit; the spirit of art was haunting the place, and this was no joke.

There stood the work of art, as lifelike as when it had been whole and untouched. The hours struck one after another, right up to twelve, and the figures came crowding out. First came Moses; flames seemed to shine from his forehead, and he hurled the heavy stone tablets of the law onto the bridegroom’s feet, pinning them to the church floor.

“I cannot lift them again!” said Moses. “You have knocked my arms off! Stay where you are!” Now came Adam and Eve, the Wise Men from the East, and the four seasons, each telling him unpleasant truths. “Shame on you!”

But he felt no shame. All the figures that each hour had to display stepped out of the clock, and they all grew to a terrible size, until there seemed to be no room left for the real people. And when, at the twelfth stroke, the watchman stepped out in his cap, carrying his morning star, there was a strange commotion. The watchman went straight up to the bridegroom and struck him on the forehead with his morning star.

“Lie there!” he said. “Tit for tat! We are avenged, and our master too! Now we vanish!” And the whole work of art vanished. But the lights all around the church became great luminous flowers, and the gilded stars beneath the ceiling sent out long, bright rays. The organ played of its own accord. Everyone said it was the most incredible thing they had ever experienced.

“Then will you summon the rightful man!” said the princess. “The man who made the work of art shall be my husband and lord!” And there he stood in the church, with all the people as his retinue. Everyone rejoiced, everyone blessed him; there was not a single person who was envious—and that was the most incredible thing of all!