They barely twinkle, set like cold stars under the bridge of movement. We can often see them through a sapphire caseback, engraved with a word that has become almost legendary: “17 jewels”. Rubies are not there to seduce, but to survive. In a world of micro-forces and minute friction, these precious stones – most often synthetic – are the invisible guardians of precision, durability and watchmaking style.
A mechanical watch is just a ballet of surfaces in contact. With each rotation of a pinion, with each back and forth of the exhaust, steel against steel would wear out, heat up, consume the energy of the mainspring. Ruby (corundum), with a hardness of 9 on the Mohs scale, offers an extremely smooth and resistant surface. Polished in “olive holes” and combined with a drop of watchmaking oil, the stone reduces the contact surface, stabilizes the lubricating film and reduces friction losses. Result: more amplitude, more consistency, more useful power reserve.
Beyond efficiency, the rubies stabilize the axis of the mobiles, guide the pivots and limit their wear. Less play means less gait drift over the years. In watchmaking, precision is never a show of brilliance: it is a balance that is preserved. Rubies are this quiet foundation.
They are found wherever pressure is high, speed high or consistency crucial. Some points of reference to visualize their role:
The “classic” endowment of a well-made manual caliber: 17 jewels. It covers the gear train, the escapement, and the balance counter-pivots. Beyond that, each complication or system (date, automatic winding, indirect second) adds its stones where it makes mechanical sense.
In the 50s and 60s, the race for “jewels” flirted with the absurd: 30, 40, sometimes 100 rubies displayed on the bridge, without any real benefit. A well-designed watch doesn't need a forest of stones. It needs rubies in the right places, well sized, well polished, well oiled. A cleverly designed 17 jewels will easily outperform a free 30 jewels. The number reassures, the relevance convinces.
Watch rubies are not gems taken from a mine: they are synthetic corundums, often colorless (sapphire) or tinted pink/red for tradition. Since the Verneuil method at the beginning of the 20th century, the industry has mastered a stone that is pure, homogeneous, economical and ideal for micrometric machining. The choice is not aesthetic: it is a matter of stability, hardness and consistency of supply.
Add to this the anti-shock systems (Incabloc, Kif type): a spring lyre protects the cap jewels of the balance wheel in the event of a fall, allowing the pivot to refocus after the impact. Without rubies, these protections would lose their finesse and precision.
When working on a watch, the watchmaker first examines the stones of the gear train and the balance wheel: are they clean, intact, without a stray hair of oil? A cracked ruby hole is rare but audible: amplitude at half mast, ticking going out. A poorly polished or poorly oiled palette results in a nervous, energy-consuming watch that moves capriciously. Conversely, clean rubies, fresh and centered oil, and the whole watch breathes: stable amplitude, silky noise, contained drift.
Beyond the number, certain clues betray a real culture of stone: “mirror” chamfers around the holes, rubies flush with no burrs, perfectly aligned pallets, oil in a very round meniscus under the magnifying glass. So many details invisible on the wrist, but which we find, unconsciously, in the sensation of regularity and quality.
Rubies are the hidden elegance of fine watchmaking: a simple, almost archaic solution to an eternal problem — mastering friction to tame time. In their discreet shine, we read a philosophy: it is better to polish a surface than to force a mechanism. And if your next watch delights you with its regularity, thank those little red sparks. They do not seek the light; they create duration.
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