Bern, Fiction
We'd been studying in my English class the novel by Alan Lightman, Einstein's Dreams. (Search on this site for other posts about the novel.) So we headed up to Bern to see this town.
The clock chimed the hours with a petite show of movement from circling bears, dancing jesters, and a cock of the hand from the seated figure. Underwhelming, as astronomical clocks go. I'd read so much about this clock and the reality collided with the fictional universe.
We walked further down Kramgasse to find the place where Albert Einstein lived. There's an interesting chapter in Lightman's novel about the world being fragmented, each house living in a different time. I wondered, if Mr. Einstein could see this now, if he might feel that his life was so: this fragment--this seven years of his life--celebrated in Bern. Other fragments in other towns equally trussed up for display.
Einstein Haus
We posed for a photo next to Zahringer Fountain. In the early days of town, these fountains were the source of water for the residents, and the back alley behind these buildings was where they threw their waste water. Generally these fountains all have carved and painted wooden figures atop the pedestal, with four spigots below. The Zahringer Fountain has a bear on top, the town's mascot. (Long story.)
The apartment was small: this room for the living/dining room, a back room which was their bedroom (and where the Caisse Lady was positioned to catch the tourists' "six Swiss francs each, bitte") two hallways: one where they did the cooking, and one which was their storage. But apparently to Einstein, who worked at the Patent Office, it was a lovely haven, where he thought up many significant ideas. A miracle year, as it's known.
How many of us would like to have a fragment of time to point to, as we do now with Einstein? Can I ever point to a place on the clock of my life as my miracle year, the year I was productive, profound and for a shining moment, exquisitely brilliant?
Can any of us?
We'd been studying in my English class the novel by Alan Lightman, Einstein's Dreams. (Search on this site for other posts about the novel.) So we headed up to Bern to see this town.
The clock chimed the hours with a petite show of movement from circling bears, dancing jesters, and a cock of the hand from the seated figure. Underwhelming, as astronomical clocks go. I'd read so much about this clock and the reality collided with the fictional universe.
We walked further down Kramgasse to find the place where Albert Einstein lived. There's an interesting chapter in Lightman's novel about the world being fragmented, each house living in a different time. I wondered, if Mr. Einstein could see this now, if he might feel that his life was so: this fragment--this seven years of his life--celebrated in Bern. Other fragments in other towns equally trussed up for display.
Einstein Haus
We posed for a photo next to Zahringer Fountain. In the early days of town, these fountains were the source of water for the residents, and the back alley behind these buildings was where they threw their waste water. Generally these fountains all have carved and painted wooden figures atop the pedestal, with four spigots below. The Zahringer Fountain has a bear on top, the town's mascot. (Long story.)
The apartment was small: this room for the living/dining room, a back room which was their bedroom (and where the Caisse Lady was positioned to catch the tourists' "six Swiss francs each, bitte") two hallways: one where they did the cooking, and one which was their storage. But apparently to Einstein, who worked at the Patent Office, it was a lovely haven, where he thought up many significant ideas. A miracle year, as it's known.
How many of us would like to have a fragment of time to point to, as we do now with Einstein? Can I ever point to a place on the clock of my life as my miracle year, the year I was productive, profound and for a shining moment, exquisitely brilliant?
Can any of us?
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