Literature Revived

In the distinctively early grey mornings of London, before our day started with the official lectures and explorations, I often walked around Russell Square and found a refuge in St. George’s Gardens. Formerly an 18th-century graveyard, St. George’s Gardens is now a lovely, quiet refuge from the breakneck pace of the city, where moments seem fleeting — although always charming. The modern mind is discursive and temperamental, but the classical mind is unfaltering in its concentration. This is perhaps my favourite thing about London — these little diversions from the fast-moving world in the form of little gardens scattered through the city like gems in a mine. Escaping to these hideaways scattered throughout the city allows me to return to the crux of Dicken’s story and will enable me to be transported back in time to the late 18th century, the years when The Tale of Two Cities is set.

It reminds me of Dennis Sever’s need to flee to a recess of yesteryear in the personal museum he curated. Stuck in time, this beautiful house is a shrine to the days of Dickens. The attention to detail — flaxen hair caught in the teeth of an ebony comb, framed newspaper clippings warning of a terror stalking the streets of London (who we know today as Jack the Ripper) — stirred up false memories of the people who occupied these hallowed rooms.

Paper signs declared that “some can see it and others can’t”. Before I entered that house, I was a “can’t”. This experience, in combination with the history lessons every morning, has finally allowed me to embrace the novel entirely and move between its pages to occupy the world Dickens so masterfully paints with his meandering descriptions and fully-fledged characters.

Visiting the Charles Dickens Museum was equally enlightening. We received the incredible opportunity to move through those rooms straight out of another century. The museum was filled with lovely illustrations and artefacts from Dicken’s time. It was astounding to realise that one of England’s greatest writers produced many of his significant works in those rooms. Pages and displays of his actual handwritten work decorated the antique wallpaper. Vestiges of Dickens’ world are also found peppered throughout London, a city with breathtaking juxtapositions of Old London against the new. Parliament buildings flush against the Gherkin, cobblestoned pavements breaking into tarmacked main roads, creaky wooden doors plastered with graffiti and concert posters.

And despite its metropolitan status, London also boasts of beautiful museums and galleries rife with history. The British Museum, the Natural History Museum and the National Gallery all held beautifully curated rooms that revealed histories of not only England but its tryst with the world and its colonies. The British Museum and the National Gallery seem almost lavish with their spoil for choice and the sheer amount of artefacts, statues and arts squeezed behind glass casings. The Parthenon Sculptures, sourced from the temple of Athena on the Acropolis in Athens, were particularly my favourite. The frieze displayed stories and as someone enrolled in this program centred around the evocative power of words, I found it interesting to see how important attention to visual detail was, even back then and even now. Although the museum is rightfully controversial for pillaging artefacts from other civilizations and countries, I found it hard to deny the cultural significance of the museum and its careful appreciation for the world's combined heritage. It was bittersweet — this acknowledgement of the British Empire's plunder and wonder at the beautiful curation and display of world history.

The Sondheim Theatre, another beautiful landmark rife with history, once scarred by the atrocities of war, is where we attended a stunning production of Les Miserables. The musical show brought the streets of Paris to life before I even stepped foot in France. My appreciation for Hugo’s words gained a newfound purpose. Despite the chasm between the stage and our seats, the performance felt intimate and real, and the reactions of the invested audience to the tragedies and comedies of the musical elevated the experience to an entirely new level. The beautiful arches and red velvet hangings, along with the brilliantly and intricately crafted sets in the Sondheim Theatre, helped create a cocoon that cut out the real world, and I found myself not wanting the musical to end. After traversing Hugo's great novel and the scintillating musical show, Jean Valjean’s untimely demise was all the more painful.

London was a beautiful haven, one that I am regretful to leave as we move onto Paris for the next three weeks. As we departed onto Gare du Nord and bundled off into taxis to our new homes for the coming month, however, I am eager to uncover the secrets of a new city.