The Louvre bit into my week in a big way. When you think of this august museum, this former luxury resort of kings, you think of endless corridors and galleries of Mighty Art, right? Certainly it is full of that — to a mind-boggling extent. But the Louvre that had its teeth grinding my Monday and Tuesday, its gastric juices breaking down my Thursday and Friday keeps itself tucked away in windowless offices, underground, just like any other dragon worthy of the name. I’m talking about bureaucracy, perhaps of the worst sort, for the Louvre’s fonctionnariat takes itself to be the aristocracy of Officeland, one entitled to grant privileges while — and herein lies the curious contradiction – upholding France’s republican ideal of liberté, égalité, fraternité. In other words, everyone using the museum and its services is considered equal and the same and everyone is equally vulnerable to the whims of its privilege granting. Does this make sense?
Let me give you an example.
The Bureau des Copistes through which anyone desiring to paint in the Louvre must pass for approval maintains a two to three year waiting list. In theory everyone has the right to copy at the Louvre; in practice only those who demonstrate exceptional patience, deference and constant solicitude toward a certain Madame Old Town who runs the bureau single-handedly, have a chance to enter the ranks of the Chosen Few.
The study program I now direct has, for the past fifteen years or so, maintained a relatively cozy relationship with the Copy Bureau and we are usually able to get five students each semester authorized to paint in the museum. Yet every time I enter the underground offices to speak with Madame Old Town, I am given a subtle yet forceful reminder of the tenuous ties between us and of the importance of my courtship. “I do not see your students as a group with more clout than the other copyists,” she tells me, “but as individuals, equal to the other individuals who desire to paint in the museum.” Entendu, chère Madame. For Christmas this year, I brought her a sumptuous box of fine chocolates from La Maison du Chocolat as well as a card expressing my gratitude for “ce grand privilège qui est de copier au musée du Louvre” etc. In return she sent me a card wishing me the Bonne Année, which I took as an encouraging sign, perhaps even a step towards a partnership less susceptible to the whims of disguised favor.
Last semester I was « granted the privilège » to accompany Mme Old Town in the ritual of setting the students up with their easels. This is rather solemn business requiring the use of special telephones to communicate with hidden locker rooms where the copyists must store their equipment and painting (which, incidentally, must never leave the museum until finished and stamped by Madame Old Town), and the communication of strict procedures and rules to follow au pied de la lettre. It so happened that one of our students last semester had only one arm, but this didn’t seem to give Mme Old Town pause as she showed the student how to set up the easel and hold her palette. I looked at the student brandishing the palette in her one hand, then down at her box of painting supplies where the brushes were. Hmmm…
“May I have a word with you, Madame Old Town?” I called her over to have a tête à tête. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but this student has only one arm. She won’t be able to hold her palette and paintbrush in the same hand, you see…”
“Of course I noticed she has only one arm,” said Mme Old Town visibly offended by my remark. “But I treat her like everyone else. We are a Republican Institution, Madame, and do not make exceptions for things such as this. I see no difference between this young lady and the others and will treat her just as I do the girls with two arms.”
“I see your point,” I replied, not wanting to ruffle her, “but can we find a way to hook her palette onto the easel so that her hand is free to paint?”
To her credit, Madame Old Town did find a solution to the palette problem. But when we left the student, she resumed her discourse on the importance of the French Republican ideal of equality as sameness, asserting its inherent superiority over the Anglo-Saxon model, which treats disabled people as a group apart with special needs. How alienating it must be after all to be provided with special bathrooms, wheelchairs and elevators!
I return to the belly of the dragon tomorrow. Wish me luck, wish me liberté if you like, but certainly not égalité.