Vacheron Constantin has had a notable 270th anniversary already, in the form of a solid line-up of limited editions as well as the introduction of that collector’s darling—the steel, 37mm Historiques 222. Now, however, we bear witness to the real move, the one that will be remembered and talked about and referenced in releases many decades from now—introducing the one-of-a-kind and almost unbelievable La Quête du Temps.
It is accurate to describe it as an astronomy-inclined clock with an automaton and a music box. Yet, this feels like a massive undersell. It stands more than a metre high, for starters, a mystical and intricate edifice that seems like it should only exist as a movie prop that only ‘works’ via special effects. But rest assured that La Quête du Temps is a fully functional ode to mechanical artistry, told via 6,293 components. It was seven years in development, with 15 patents involved in that.
It consists of three stacked sections: its heart, the clock and timing works, are in the middle. Calibre 9270 has 2,370 components on its own, and hosts 23 complications along with seven patent-pending elements. The dial consists of four transparent layers. The upper portion is dominated by a massive tourbillon—much larger than the usual wrist-mounted ones—and topped with a magnifier for extra viewing panache. A border of baguette-cut diamonds is the icing on the cake. Similarly decorated and opposing the tourbillon at 6 o’clock is a 24-hour display, topped by a hand-engraved sun-and-moon appliqué, with a lacquer ring that fades from blue to white to indicate day and night.
And then there are the retrograde displays, a Vacheron Constantin signature since the early 20th century. The grandest two are on the outer edges to the left and right—inlaid with rock crystal, one for hours and the other for minutes. Another long semicircle sits beneath the 24-hour display to indicate the date. Just above this, and flanking the 24-hour display, are a pair for sunrise and sunset times. The power indicator is split into another retrograde pair, located on the upper sections of the inner circumference; each is responsible for seven-and-a-half days, covering the 15-day total of power reserve. Next to these, day and month have dedicated rectangular apertures; leap year is indicated by a smaller, circular one. And around back, there is a whole other dial. Here is a celestial map that tracks the display of constellations as they appear in the northern hemisphere. This is surrounded by a concentric set of ring indicators—the month, seasons and equinoxes, and astrological zodiac signs are displayed. This clock section sits on a two-level plinth decorated with a solar system motif—the backdrop of deep space is rendered in lapis lazuli, while the planets are cabochons of various stones, and names are signed with mother-of-pearl inlays.
As impressive as the clock section is, the most eye-catching aspect of La Quête du Temps is what lies above it as the uppermost partition. Here, standing contemplative beneath a glass dome painted with some of the major constellations—Leo, Taurus, Gemini, Virgo, Libra, Orion, and Ursas Major and Minor—as they would have appeared at Vacheron Constantin’s founding on 17 September 1755, is a statue-like astronomer, standing 28cm high in cast bronze. It is also not a mere statue, but an automaton, consisting of eight articulated sections. In addition, a golden sun is positioned up high, a three-dimensional retrograde Moon is set in front, and hour and minute scales curve to the left and right. The magic happens here, with the automaton, but is enabled by the engine room housed in the structure’s octagonal base. It is clad in transparent rock crystal, allowing viewers to admire it in action when it powers both movement and music.
The automaton’s movement is ambitious in scale and grandeur. Able to act on demand as well as to be set up to 24 hours in advance, the first of three sequences begins with a melodic announcement. The automaton will stir to life, looking around as if awakening, before gesturing to the celestial symbols in front of it as part of its first two sequences. The third sequence is linked to the timekeeping and, hence, varies throughout the day—the automaton will point out the hour and minutes on the scales suspended before it. In a whimsical touch, the numbers on those scales are not in order, which means that the posture of the automaton will change more dramatically during subsequent activations.
This third sequence requires that the automaton make a different motion for each of the 12 hours and 12 five-minute intervals, which means that it has to be encoded with 144 different movements. It was constructed in partnership with the one and only Francois Junod, the world’s foremost automatier, who has collaborated with Vacheron Constantin several times over the last two decades. In fact, Junod has said that this is the most difficult project he has ever undertaken. It uses 158 cams and has eight patent-pending innovations of its own. The music was composed by the French musician known as Woodkid, and is played through an integrated system of metallophones and ‘Wah-Wah’ tubes—a type of chime with a modulating pitch.
The music and movement accounts for 3,923 components, which, when combined with the watchmaking elements, bring the total number of mechanical components up to 6,293. The housing, developed with renowned clockmaker L’Epée 1839, adds another 1,020 components. While the core inspiration of La Quête du Temps is from 18th-century astronomy traditions, its aesthetics are more of a 20th-century homage, especially to the Art Deco era. Despite the density of mechanical parts, the extensive use of transparent surfaces—including the 40cm glass dome at the top—adds a sense of light and openness.
The La Quête du Temps project is part of Vacheron Constantin’s ongoing collaboration with the Louvre, the world’s most famous art museum. This extraordinary device will be on display there until 12 November 2025, alongside a dozen other intricate timekeeping works from the Louvre’s collection.
