Bach and the Spiky Dragon
We've been here in London a week now and it seems like we've been here forever. Our routine is very predictable and grueling. We get up at the crack of dawn and assemble at the office. We work for a couple of hours and then walk about 10 minutes down Fleet Street to the International Dispute Resolution Centre where our hearing is being held. We pass an enormous amount of history on the way. You already know about St. Clement Danes, the first thing we pass. In addition, we pass:
1. The Royal Courts of Justice, the country's vast civil court complex. It is a Victorian Gothic castle with 1,000 rooms and 3.5 miles of corridors (according to my book). It was built in 1882.
2. The Temple Bar Memorial, which marks the ancient entrance to the City of London. The Queen (who lives in the City of Westminster -- totally different) has to stop here and “knock” to get permission to enter the City before proceeding down the road to St. Paul's or sherever she is headed. There is a wonderful statue of a dragon on top of the Temple Bar memorial, which against the Gothic architecture of the Royal Courts of Justice gives the whole place a Tolkien-esque, fantasyland air. We've been arguing amongst ourselves about whether it's a dragon or a griffin, and lo and behold, I opened my book tonight and it actually says “the spiky dragon, which is definitely not a griffin ....” (page 92) Hah!
3. The Temple itself, which is where four of the Inns of Court are located. It is called the Temple because the Knights Templar were based on this spot from 1185 until 1312, when the Plantagenets kicked them out for some reason that I have not yet figured out. Several crusaders are buried in the round church inside. I want to get in there before we leave.
4. St. Bride's Church, just past our hearing room, is on ground that has been occupied by houses of worship since Roman times -- there is a section of Roman pavement in it. More importantly, its spire is the model for tiered wedding cakes (not that interesting, really).Then, after the hearing adjourns for the day, we walk back up Fleet Street, past the Temple and the Spiky Dragon and the Royal Courts of Justice and St. Clement Danes, to the office where we work for a couple more hours and then all of us -- lawyers, paralegals, witnesses, client and hangers-on -- go off to an endless, exhausting dinner somewhere. We've eaten everywhere from Mayfair to Bloomsbury to Covent Garden to Trafalgar to the City. We are all now exceedingly fat. And some amazing things have transpired during these never-ending dinners, but those stories will have to wait for another day.
By now, however, most of our witnesses are gone and it's just the lawyers left and we're getting ready for closing arguments on Tuesday. So after working all day in the office, I decided to take Saturday night and do something without the gang for a change.
So, I went up to St. Martin-in-the-Fields and saw a candelight concert in the church of Bach's Brandenburg concertos played on period instruments. It was lovely. The church was consecrated in 1712 and Bach's concertos were commissioned at just about that time. All the electric lights were off (just candles) and the period instruments sound a little different than the modern ones and so it was basically a transporting experience.
The french horns were very weird sounding (muffled, imprecise) and the flute and violins were very soft but the harpsichord was amazing! I've never had much use for the harpsichord, but this one sounded like a modern synthesizer it was so loud and clear and its sound was everywhere in the church -- constantly running along underneath the rest of the music, sort of like a centipede's legs in motion. It was actually kind of mesmerizing. I will never listen to Concerto number 3 the same way again (it used to be my least favorite).It is not really a very big church, so we were all crammed in there in the low light. But everyone was happy and tapping their toes and smiling and nodding their heads to the very familiar music. I sat in the nice warm nave and relaxed and didn't think about the silly hearing or anything and emptied my brain. Unfortunately, this usually means I start giggling to myself about something or other because when you have nothing serious to think about, everything becomes VERY funny! I tried not to giggle too audibly. The strangers sitting next to me didn't seem to notice.
After the concert we all tumbled out and off the big stone porch of St. Martin-in-the-Fields to a clear night with Nelson towering over the lions in Trafalgar Square and the round yellow face of Big Ben beaming at us and an equally round yellow moon over the river. St. Martin-in-the-Fields is apparently the architectural inspiration for many Colonial American churches, particularly the shape of its spire, so being there is oddly reminescent of New England. People dressed up for Hallowe'en were milling around Charing Cross and packs of window shoppers and people strolling were intermingled with them. It felt like Fifth Avenue does the week before Christmas.
I walked home through the theatre district and stopped for a bowl of spicy fish soup and a glass of white wine, still smiling and thinking foolish thoughts. It was lovely to eat by myself -- three meals a day with other people is exhausting for someone who is used to eating every almost every meal alone.Tomorrow, back to work.
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