The Louvre, after hours...

I've just finished reading Dan Brown's book, The Da Vinci Code, which I really didn't like.

Given the hype, the glowing reviews, and the fact that I've had to wait months on the hold list at the library for it, I had really expected to be bowled over.

I wasn't. I found it didactic, I found it pedantic, I found it derivative, and I found Brown's spin on art history just a little too, too...I'm not sure how to describe it. But facts like Da Vinci studying anatomy using corpses are laid out as if they are unusually stunning, or stunningly unusual, when in fact Da Vinci wasn't the only artist to study anatomy in this somewhat gruesome fashion.

And all through the book, right up to the point that he finally mentioned it himself, I kept thinking Holy Blood, Holy Grail...

But I digress, because I don't really want to talk about the book, discussion of which really should find a home over on my book blog.

No, what interests me about this book is that it contributes to a subject I find fascinating -- accounts of the Louvre after dark, in which, often, mysterious goings-on...well...go on.

And Brown is also not the first person to write about this, though I'll start with his description:

"Langdon stepped quickly out into the hallway, eager for the wide-open space afforded by the famous high ceilings of the Louvre galleries. The world into which he stepped, however, was nothing like he expected.

"Surprised, Langdon stopped short.

"Fache glanced over. "I gather, Mr. Langdon, you have never seen the Louvre after hours before?"

"I guess not, Langdon thought, trying to get his bearings.

"Usually impeccably illuminated, the Louvre galleries were startlingly dark tonight. Instead of the customary flat-white light flowing down from above, a muted red glow seemed to emanate upward from the baseboards -- intermittent patches of red light spilling out onto the floors.

"As Langdon gazed down the murky corridor, he realized he should have anticipated this scene. Virtually all major galleries employed red service lighting at night -- strategically placed, low-level, noninvasive lights that enabled staff members to navigate hallways and yet kept the paintings in relative darkness to slow the fading effects of overexposure to light. Tonight, the museum possessed an almost oppressive quality. Long shadows encroached everywhere, and the usually soaring vaulted cewilings appeared as a low, black void."

Okay, so maybe it's not such a terribly mysterious description, given the events in the Louvre on that evening, and given the mystery that starts, and ultimately ends, with the Louvre.

Compare this to an excerpt from the story "The Ring of Thoth", written in 1890 by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle:

"Twilight deepened into darkness, the bustle from the Rue de Rivoli waxed and then waned, distant Notre Dame clanged out the hour of midnight, and still the dark and lonely figure sat silently in the shadow. It was not until close upon one in the morning that, with a sudden gasp and an intaking of the breath, Vansittart Smith returned to consciousness. For a moment it flashed upon him that he had dropped asleep in his studychair at home. The moon was shining fitfully through the unshuttered window, however, and as his eye ran along the lines of mummies and the endless array of polished cases, he remembered clearly where he was and how he came there. The student was not a nervous man. He possessed that love of a novel situation which is peculiar to his race. Stretching out his cramped limbs, he looked at his watch, and burst into a chuckle as he observed the hour. The episode would make an admirable anecdote to be introduced into his next paper as a relief to the graver and heavier speculations. He was a little cold, but wide awake and much refreshed. It was no wonder that the guardians had overlooked him, for the door threw its heavy black shadow right across him."

Okay, so Our Hero, Vansittart Smith, is slightly more bemused than Brown's Robert Langdon is to find himself locked in the Louvre after hours. Until, that is...

" Leaning back in his chair, he gazed dreamily down the long vista of rooms, all silvery with the moonshine, which extend through the whole wing of the widespread building. His eyes fell upon the yellow glare of a distant lamp.

      John Vansittart Smith sat up on his chair with his nerves all on edge. The light was advancing slowly towards him, pausing from time to time, and then coming jerkily onwards. The bearer moved noiselessly. In the utter silence there was no suspicion of the pat of a footfall. An idea of robbers entered the Englishman's head. He snuggled up farther into the corner. The light was two rooms off. Now it was in the next chamber, and still there was no sound. With something approaching to a thrill of fear the student observed a face, floating in the air as it were, behind the flare of the lamp. The figure was wrapped in shadow, but the light fell full upon a strange, eager face. There was no mistaking the metallic, glistening eyes and the cadaverous skin. It was the attendant with whom he had conversed."

Whoo, boy! What follows is a strange tale of mummies, the Ring of Thoth, which has the power to reunite an Egyptian priest with his beloved in the afterlife. Thrilling stuff. More or less. A "Curious Occurrence in the Louvre" indeed.

And then there's Belphégor.

Although the name was taken from Baal-Peor, who was the god of the Moabites. Belphégor the demon was, according to de Plancy's Dictionnaire Infernal of 1863, a demon of discoveries and inventions, and who frequently appears as a young woman. And Belphégor was also considered Hell's ambassador to France, a thought that amuses me somehow.

In 1927, Arthur Bernède created his version of Belphégor. Bernède was a prolific writer (his works include the story of Vidocq, also made into a film recently) who teamed forces with the actor René Navette and the writer Gaston Le Roux to form a production company to produce films and novels, and his Belphégor was created in an attempt to rival Le Roux's Phantom of the Opera.

A guard at the Louvre is assasinated, and the Commissaire Chantecoq, aided by his daughter Colette, try to unravel the mystery, with the assistance of Jacques Bellegarde, a young reporter for the Petit Parisien. They must find out who hides behind Belphégor's mask, if Belphégor is not the ghost everyone believes is haunting the Louvre, in an attempt to exact some sort of vengeance.

The book was made into a film in 1927, then into a television series in 1965, and lately into another film (in 2000, and I'd best say this film was "liberally inspired" by the book) featuring Sophie (Bond Girl) Marceau, Frédéric Diefenthal, and the inimitable Michel Serrault.

In this version of the story, a heretofore undiscovered and untouched sarcophagous is discovered in the vaults of the Louvre, and soon after strange things begin happening. The spirit of the mummy escapes and wanders the museum. It's not a great movie (okay, let's be honest and say it's a really bad movie), but it has stunning views of the Louvre, and, most importantly, a passageway underground from the apartment of Lisa (played by Marceau) right into the Louvre. Lots of Louvre after hours...

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P.S. to Pioneer Melissa -- if it's chicken broth you want, I have a tale to tell...coming soon over on the food blog...