“I am that living and fiery essence of the divine substance that glows in the beauty of the fields. I shine in the water, I burn in the sun and the moon and the stars.” –Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179)
The bancs-reposoirs (“resting benches”) of Alsace are sandstone memories of 19th-century peasant life. Spaced about 2 kilometers apart on well-traveled ways, the benches provided a place of rest for farmers headed into town on market day. Women, who carried their goods in baskets on their heads, placed them on the lintel topping the structure. The resting benches were often shaded by linden trees.
Throughout Alsace, about 170 bancs-reposoirs remain, built in 1811 and 1854. Found along a windy road in Hilsenheim, France, this bench offered a moment of respite to people carrying a heavy load. Visiting it in the 21st century, I try to imagine the trek to the next town and the weight of the wheat and bran the women carried on their heads. What emotional burdens weighed on them? What were their passions? Did they enjoy aspects of this work?
It goes without saying that there is a disparity in experience between 19th-century Alsatian peasants and a 21st-century college professor from across the ocean. Though as I trace my finger on the lichen covering the stone, I remember that time is fluid and that in this spot, the centuries touch. I sit on the same resting bench. The landscape I take in resembles the backdrop of their lives—neat fields, spring greens, unruly grasses in the ditch. They may have felt a similar May breeze on their skin. Stone, place, and air connect us.
This moment also reminds me that rest is essential. The world is currently burdened by a pandemic. After almost a year of living in crisis mode, we need to sit on our own figurative resting benches. Let us stop and catch our breath. Let us remember our fiery essences. Let us also be still and smile, seeing how we glow in the fields, shine in the water, and burn in the heavens.
Taking its name from the powerful Medici family of Florence, Italy, la fontaine Médicis is a hidden gem nestled in the popular Luxembourg gardens in Paris. Marie de Medici (1575 – 1642), who was the widow of King Henri IV of France, found herself weary of living in the Louvre after her husband’s death. She decided to have her own palace, Palais des Médicis, constructed (~1623 – 30) on the left bank of the Seine. Feeling nostalgic for the style of the Palazzo Pitti and Boboli Gardens in her hometown of Florence, she commissioned both her palace and its surrounding gardens to be modeled on this same Italian Renaissance style.
However, much of the original design has been changed or replaced in a number of reconstructions over the years. These include the change in form from grotto to fountain along with other modifications in 1799 by the celebrated Jean Chalgrin (1739 – 1811), architect of the Arc de Triomphe. The most notable changes took place later, between 1864 – 66, when the fountain was moved about 30 meters to its current location in the Luxembourg gardens due to the construction of la rue Médicis. There, the fountain was extensively rebuilt into the version we see today. This final construction was based on the designs of Alphonse de Gisors (1796 – 1861), with sculptures by Auguste Ottin (1811 – 90), and contains a number of decorative elements.
include a central niche featuring Ottin’s statue of Acis holding Galatea, the two lying together under a rock on top of which is perched Polyphemus, ready to launch the stone fated to kill his rival*. The side niches are decorated with a statue of a faun (probably Pan) and a huntress (probably Diana). Because the fountain no longer had a “back” once it was moved to its current location, a large bas-relief by Achille Valois (1785 – 1862), featuring Leda with Jupiter transformed into a swan**, was moved from another salvaged fountain (originally at the intersection of the rue du Regard and the rue de Vaugirard) and placed on the new back wall for the Medici fountain.