First Sunday of the month: the best and the worst of the Louvre and a suggestion for solving the free entry dilemma

National museums in France are free on the first Sunday of the month. (Incidentally, this could be set to change: extending free opening was one of Sarkozy’s manifesto promises. But the government has clearly got cold feet about this and for now it looks as if it may only be extended to 18-26 year olds [France 2]). And since this was my last ‘first Sunday’ in Paris (for a while at least) I felt there was nothing for it but to head for the Louvre.

I like the Louvre. I genuinely think it probably houses the finest collection of Western art across a vast range of periods of any museum in the world. But I still find it a bit intimidating. Where to start?

In one sense there is an easy answer to this question: the ‘Porte des lions’, the entrance to the ‘Pavillion des sessions‘, the Quai Branly’s annexe in the Louvre. Most people don’t seem to know there is an entrance here so you can almost always get in without queuing. I was also glad of the opportunity to revisit some of the items in this section; although I came here several times when it opened in 2000 I had not been back since, despite my interest in its politics. Housed at the end of a wing I couldn’t help feeling that lots of visitors seemed to have stumbled across it a bit by accident and were wandering round looking lost and bemused. And no wonder. None of the works on display carry labels; instead you have to look around to find the bare minimum of information on a nearby wall. The consequence is that visitors simply do not know what they are looking at, and on a busy day they don’t take the time to find out. When Kerchache was imagining the aesthetic awe that these works were supposed to inspire he clearly didn’t imagine doing so in the company of the camera-wielding 3-kids-in-tow masses. In these conditions the display does not do the works ‘justice’ (in Kerchache’s terms), it does them a grave disservice.

Yet in a funny sort of way I can’t blame him for not considering the needs of the public. A visit to the Louvre on a Sunday is enough to make you throw all your egalitarian visitor-as-expert ideas out of the window. Especially if the one flaw in your queue-dodging plans is that to get to the rest of the stuff you want to see you have to negotiate a passage past both the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo. After today I completely understand why the staff complain of stress [previous post]; they are simply overwhelmed and have to spend all day tackling visitor idiocy. There were camera flashes going off all over the place, for example. One section, housing a magnificent collection of late 18th century Spanish and Italian sketches, including incredibly rare and fragile works by Goya, has huge signs at the entrance in at least ten languages saying no photography at all. And that still didn’t seem to stop people. Elsewhere I saw someone coming dangerously close to elbowing a 2nd century BC statue of the god Pan, not to mention actually prodding a 3,500 year old carved inscirption in the near eastern antiquities section. We all know that museums should not expect to command too much respect – that way they become unapproachable and elitist – but once certain works become just the next stop after the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe everything else seems to me to get treated with a carelessness that borders on scorn.

Whilst visitor behaviour was bad the Louvre management was arguably even worse. About an hour into my visit the security alarm went off and a message came over the tannoy asking visitors to vacate the building by the nearest exit in both French and English. I began to make my way to follow the instructions but soon noticed that no one else seemed to be paying the announcement any attention. I stopped to question a member of staff. “Don’t worry,” he said, “you can continue your visit until one of my colleagues directs you to leave.” So what was the point of the alarm? And what would happen if they really did need to evacuate. Most visitors clearly seemed to think it didn’t apply to them (rather like the “no flash photography” and “no touching” notices). Shortly afterwards the confusion generated did create a mass movement towards one exit. At a crush in a doorway a member of staff told the assembled crowd to retrace its steps, yet her colleague would not let anyone leave by the opposite exit. There were probably 200 people momentarily trapped in a single gallery. Not an ideal way of managing visitor flow, especially in the context of a security alert.

But… even on the busiest days you can make new discoveries and see wondrous things, especially if you take your chances with the more obscure sections. I had printed out an itinerary, that led me round a series of 17th century French ‘painters of reality’. A wise choice; French painting up on the second floor was much calmer. And whilst the tone of the guide was odd – it certainly assumed a higher level of knowledge of French art history than I possess, and I suspect I could probably count myself amongst the better informed category of general visitor – I took me into areas I had never previously explored (despite what I estimate must be at least 10 visits over the course of the last 10 years). This picture (‘The cheat’) by Georges de la Tour is definitely a new favourite and if you can face the trek across to the opposite wing it makes a wonderful pair with Caravaggio’s equally mischevious Fortune teller.

In short, however frustrating the Louvre can be, it never disappoints, if you approach it with a strategy. The problem is that the museum does little to help its estimated 5 million overseas visitors every year. The itineraries are a good idea, but they are only available in French and they’re not terribly user friendly.

I do wonder what the impact of free entry would be too. Ticket sales fo the permanent collections bring in a much-needed €40 million to the Louvre and I understand they’re reluctant to sacrifice this. I know that the main reason I haven’t been to the Louvre more often this year is because I am reluctant to pay; given the choice I’d always rather spend my money on a temporary exhibition somewhere else. But then I’m already part of the captive audience and the Louvre is right in thinking that there’s no particular good reason why the state should subsidise my leisure activities. If the Louvre were free all the time then I don’t think you would get the absurd crush I saw today. And whilst becoming free isn’t necessarily the magic solution for attracting new audiences having to pay is definitely a serious deterrent. If I were in charge I’d consider solving the problem by introducing a camera fee equivalent to if not higher than the current entrance price, €10 for example. So that those who just want to snap themselves in front of the Mona Lisa still have to pay for the privilege. Some of the shortfall from ticket sales would probably also be made up by increased postcard and catalogue sales.

The Cité nationale de l’histoire de l’immigration will not be free (see entrance fee policy here). I have to say I think this is an error. You can’t set out to change people’s attitudes and then expect them to pay for the privilege. And it certainly wont’ help attract that elusive new audience. By all means charge for shows, screenings and performances but for the permanent exhibition? Madness.  

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