In September 1889, Herr Friedrick Thiessen, a Munich clockmaker holidaying in France for wine tastings, visits a winemaker friend. Over burgundy, the winemaker recommends a peculiar circus in town—open only at night—and mentions that an elaborate black-and-white clock at its gates resembles Thiessen’s craftsmanship.

Curious, Thiessen follows the townspeople through the fields and sees the circus glowing in the distance. At the entrance he immediately recognizes the large clock as his own work and watches it strike seven as a harlequin juggler conjures a seventh ball and the clock’s figures animate. He notes it has been carefully maintained, though he worries about its outdoor exposure and considers contacting Mr. Barris.

At the ticket booth, Thiessen pays a young woman in a black dress and white gloves and asks whom to contact about the clock. When Thiessen identifies himself as its maker, the ticket seller silently brightens, returns Thiessen’s money along with the ticket, and provides a business card for Le Cirque des Rêves, naming Chandresh Christophe Lefèvre as proprietor with a London address.

Inside, Thiessen wanders the monochrome paths and feels an unexpected familiarity, as though the circus and his clock belong to one another. He samples the shows and, in the drink tent, a minimally talkative bartender tells him the eiswein is Canadian and gives the vintage. Exhausted but enthralled, Thiessen returns twice more before leaving for Munich, paying full admission on later visits.

Back home, Thiessen writes to M. Lefèvre to praise the circus and thank him for giving the clock such a fitting home, expressing hope the circus will come to Germany. Weeks later, Lefèvre’s assistant replies with gratitude and assurances that Thiessen will be contacted if the clock has problems, but offers no itinerary. The memory of the circus lingers and begins shaping Thiessen’s work, leading him to build black-and-white clocks filled with tiny circus scenes that still feel inadequate compared to the original.