The vertical portion of the shaft extended slightly, revealing a system of collapsible sections like those of a telescope; a powerful corkscrew spring, triggered by the interaction of an inner rope and pulley, was the sole cause of this subtle ascent, which soon ended.

The movement of the shuttle-box had coincided with a slight shift in the heddles, certain strings of which had lowered while others rose. The work continued out of sight in the heights of the ceiling: only narrow slits were needed to allow passage of the immense fringes pulled earthward by a legion of thin lead weights, which reached nearly down to the chest. Each silken thread of the warp, individually crossing the eyelets of one of the heddle strings, was accordingly raised or lowered by a few centimeters.

Suddenly, quick as a flash, a shuttle launched by a spring in the shuttle-box passed through the open shed of the warp, flying across the entire width of silk threads to smack against a single compartment fixed at a predetermined and calculated spot. Unspooled from its fragile casing, a shoot, or weft thread, now stretched transversally across the warp and formed the beginning of the weave.

The batten, lowered by a movable shaft in one of the slots in the chest, struck against the shoot with its countless teeth, then immediately resumed its upright position.

The heddle strings, adjusting once more, provoked a complete change in the arrangement of the silks, which, moving swiftly back and forth, made a significant shift up or down.

Propelled by a spring in the left-hand compartment, the shuttle sped across the warp in the opposite direction and returned to its pigeonhole; a second shoot, unspooled from its bobbin, received a sharp chop from the batten.

While the heddles pursued this curious back-and-forth motion, the shuttle-box, keeping to a single plane, used its two means of displacement simultaneously to move on a diagonal; aimed at a predetermined spot, a second pigeonhole used a brief pause to expel a shuttle that, flying like a projectile into the collective corner of the silks, lodged itself in a compartment on the opposite side.

A blow from the batten onto the new shoot was followed by an ample movement of the heddles, which prepared the return path for the shuttle as it shot rapidly back to its socket.

The process continued, following an invariable path. Thanks to its marvelous mobility, the shuttle-box positioned shuttle after shuttle opposite the fixed compartments, their two-way voyage coinciding perfectly with the work of the batten and heddles.

Gradually the warp increased on one side, pulled by the slow rotation of the warp beam, a large transversal cylinder to which all the threads were attached. The weaving happened quickly, and soon a rich textile started appearing before our eyes, in the form of a thin, even band with finely gradated tonalities.

Down below, the paddles kept everything moving with their complex and precise operation—some remaining almost constantly immersed while others dipped for only a few moments in the current; the smallest paddles, for their part, merely brushed the waves with their blades for a second before rising again, only to lower in the same fleeting way after a short pause. Their number, the staggering of the various sizes, the disparity or simultaneity of the brief or lengthy dips, provided an infinite number of combinations, allowing for the creation of the boldest motifs. It was like some mute instrument plucking chords or arpeggios, sometimes slight and sometimes phenomenally lush, their rhythm and harmony constantly renewed. The driving belts, owing to their supple elasticity, lent themselves to these constant alternations between expansion and contraction. The entire apparatus, a wonder of design and lubrication, operated in silent perfection, suggesting a flawless mechanical marvel.

Bedu directed our attention to the heddles, activated solely by the paddles, which were themselves powered by an electromagnet that transmitted energy from the chest to the ceiling; the wires were hidden in one of the two rear supports, and this method dispensed with the use of punch cards as on Jacquard looms. There was no limit to the variations that could be obtained by the alternate raising and lowering of certain groups of threads. In combination with the parti-colored army of shuttles, this infinity of successive figures in the spacing of the warp allowed for the creation of fabulous textiles on a par with master paintings.

Manufactured in situ by an anomaly of this extraordinary machine, which was specially designed to perform for an attentive audience, the band of fabric grew rapidly, its details powerfully lit by the beacon. The tableau depicted a vast waterway, at the surface of which men, women, and children, eyes bulging in terror, clung desperately to bits of flotsam in a sea of wreckage; and so ingenious were the machine’s fabulous gears that the result could have with-stood comparison with the most artful watercolor. The fiercely expressive faces displayed admirable flesh tones, from the weathered brown of the old man and milky pallor of the young woman to the fresh pink of the child; the waves, running the gamut of blues, were covered in shimmering reflections, their degree of transparency varying with location.

Moved by a driving belt that rose from an opening in the huge chest, to which it was clinched by two supports, the warp beam pulled the textile that was already wrapping around it. The other end of the warp offered stiff resistance because of a steel rod that, acting as a selvage for the silk threads, was fixed between two parallel barriers attached to the chest by a series of vertical bars. Bolted to the left barrier was the immovable compartment in which each shuttle made a brief halt.

The textile motif gradually took shape, and we saw emerge a mountain toward which groups of humans and animals of all species swam for safety. A host of transparent, diagonal zigzags streaked the entire area and allowed us to grasp the subject, borrowed from the biblical description of the Flood. Calm and majestic at the surface of the waves, Noah’s Ark soon lifted its regular, massive silhouette, embellished with finely wrought figures circulating amid a copious menagerie.

The shuttle-box drew our rapt attention by the marvelous steadiness of its alert, captivating gymnastics. One after another, the most varied hues were launched across the warp in the form of shoots, and all the threads together resembled some infinitely rich palette. Sometimes the shuttle-box made a wide movement so that two very distant shuttles could be used sequentially; at other times, several successive shoots belonging to the same area required only minimal shifts. The tip of the given shuttle always found its passage through the other threads, which, parting from nearby pigeonholes and stretched in a single direction, offered it a clear path with no possible obstacle.

On the textile, the half-submerged mountain was now visible to its peak. Everywhere, against its flanks, the condemned wretches, prostrate on this last refuge that would soon be taken from them, implored the heavens with great gestures of distress. The diluvial rain flowed in cataracts over every part of the image, littered with wreckage and islets where the same scenes of despair and supplication were being played out.

The sky progressively expanded toward the zenith, and huge clouds suddenly emerged, thanks to an amalgam of gray threads subtly assorted from the brightest to the murkiest shades. Thick curls of vapor unfurled majestically in the air, harboring inexhaustible reserves to endlessly replenish the horrific deluge.

At that moment, Bedu halted the apparatus by pressing another switch on the chest. Immediately the paddles fell silent, no longer transmitting life to the various components that now lay stiff and inert.

Turning the warp beam over, Bedu, with a finely honed blade, trimmed all the threads hanging loose from the soon detached cloth; then, with a needle previously threaded with silk, he made short work of gathering the upper portion with its border of streaming clouds. The fabric, wider than it was long, took the form of a simple, loose cloak.

Bedu approached Sirdah and draped the marvelous garment over her shoulders, its length enveloping the delighted and grateful girl to her feet.

 

 

The sculptor Fuxier had just approached the beacon, showing us in his open hand several lozenges of a uniform blue, which, as we knew, contained a host of potential images of his own devising. He took one and tossed it into the river, slightly downstream from the now inactive loom.

Soon, on the surface lit by the acetylene glow, swirls clearly took shape, tracing in relief a well determined silhouette, which each of us could recognize as Perseus holding the head of Medusa.

The lozenge alone, in melting, had briefly provoked this premeditated, artistic disturbance.

The apparition lasted for a few seconds, then the water, gradually growing calmer, regained its mirrorlike unity.

Skillfully thrown by Fuxier, a second lozenge sank into the current. The concentric circles engendered by its fall had barely dissipated when a new image emerged in fine, ample swirls. This time, dancers in mantillas, standing on a heavily laden table, performed amid the plates and tankards a rousing step punctuated by their castanets, to the cheers of the revelers. The liquid drawing was so detailed that in places one could make out the shadows of crumbs on the tablecloth.

When this convivial scene vanished, Fuxier continued the experiment by sinking a third lozenge, whose effect was not long in coming.