The Madness of the Louvre
Tags: Time Travel, Fiction Writing, Short Story

The Madness of the Louvre

Art is a vital part of our ways of living. It is a form of human expression that aims to entertain and make people joyous. Great art manifests beauty and elicits rich sentiments. Being so fond of art, It was only rational that I headed to the Louvre the first chance I got around 10:30am on a Thursday, aiming to elude the crowds, and I daresay I flourished, though there were still scores of people everywhere. My wait in line was short, and I passed the time pleasantly by eavesdropping upon the conversation of the French couple in front of me. I never really comprehended, prior to visiting it, how the Louvre was laid out, but now I’m aware that it’s a beautiful, brilliant madness. In the center, there is the glass pyramid, which is where I stood in line, luckily briefly, baking in the midsummer Parisian sun.

Initially, escalators immediately took me underground. It’s ingenious, as it gives one relatively tranquil access to any wing of the museum, but simultaneously slightly mental. The glass pyramid resembled a greenhouse, concentrating the heat of the sun directly down to an area swarmed with people. A few signs were hung around, as dim attempts to restore order: No flash photography! Speak softly! Do not touch the art! The rearmost request seemed hardly worth mentioning, until I witnessed, people reaching out and touching sculptures and statues repeatedly. Their ability to value art, apparently, was situated exclusively in their fingertips.

I scanned the chaos and came to the conclusion that I must get out of there as swiftly as possible. I stuck religiously to a map I found, and thus seeing every piece of art the Louvre had to offer.

I left the painfully obvious option: the Mona Lisa, for last. It’s a bit of a walk to find her as she sits cavernous within the museum, to steer clear of those pesky run-in, run-out debacles that befall other museums. There are, fortunately, signs in every corner directing you to her location. As I read once, “She is a painting-superstar, a celeb, an icon, a spelling mistake.” (For the correct name should be the Monna Lisa.) Consequently, I weaved through the crowd as though moving to the front of the audience at a concert, in hopes of making a connection with her. I stood, a bundle of people around me, shoving as they snapped photo after photo, listening cautiously to see if she would tell me anything. Perhaps it was too rowdy, or perhaps she’d already said everything she had to say, because I hadn’t heard a word.

The Mona Lisa didn’t stir anything within me, didn’t make me marvel, mouth half hanging open. She is prominent and lovely, however the nuances of why escape me.

Or so I thought, until I saw some rather odd occurrences. I began to spot people wearing anachronistic clothing; full-bodied houppelandes paired with voluminous sleeves worn with elaborate headdresses. Women with lengthy hair in a knot at the back, a tail wrapped in black cord or ribbons. Some with necklines low and squared. I glimpsed young Italian men that wore brimless caps. I heard mysterious voices, and saw buildings and other structures that were no longer present, and, indeed, hadn’t existed since the early 1500s.

And there, I caught sight of Da Vinci himself. He was very appealing, graceful, and well-proportioned. He wore a short rose-pink tunic, knee length at a time when the majority wore long gowns. He had beautiful curling hair, carefully styled, which came down to the middle of his chest. He appeared as though he possessed great strength and dexterity; he was a man of tremendous breadth of mind and regal spirit.

Had I really fallen into a “time slip” and been briefly transported back more than 100 years before being jolted back to the present by a tour guide? The 13 year old in me who’s consumed with science fiction says how dare I critique my own vision, my subconscious creations that I did, the chemicals in my brain. Am I going to critique the weather, harass the clouds, make fun of thunder for being off key? However, the sensible part of me argues, presumably not; numerous explanations include everything from a joint delusion to a plain misinterpretation of what I actually saw. It could have been the madness of my early twenties or the chaos that is the Louvre.

It is human nature to have more faith in circumstances or theories backed by evidence and statistics. When it came to time travel, I had always been skeptical. Rightfully so. I couldn’t believe the words of strangers claiming to have defied the laws of physics and quantum science, until I had potentially experienced it myself.

… A short story I had written for my English final.