The room itself is rather cozy, and not what anyone would call terribly sexy - two padded armchairs are arranged near a fireplace, the fire inside unlit at the moment. It is the very image of the
typical Victorian parlor, with fussy end tables, brocade and velvet, fancy wallpaper, and all. History books grace several book shelves. And then there are the clocks.
So many clocks.
It seems most available bits of space on the wall and mantle are filled with them, of all sorts - sparse, elegant ones, odd ones, ornate masterpieces of carving in miniature. They are carefully arranged to fit the space, but there's no hiding the eclectic nature. There are
fancy mantle clocks,
classic cuckoos, and
ornate brass ones. There's a clock that shows the phases of the moon in inlaid silver, made of a lovely pale wood and carved with gracefully leaping wolves. There's another, made of interlocking gears that seem to climb upwards. Here is a replica of the
Zodiac Clock Tower from Venice. And here a clock with two tiny wooden dancers, poised to glide in a circle when the hour strikes. And so many more ...