Resistance Fighters

The dark-clad figures were used to working in the shadows to evade capture and arrest.  Their missions forced them to use the labyrinth of tunnels and sewers that crisscrossed under Paris. and the hundreds of miles of catacombs and tunnels were far more familiar to these guerrillas than to their uniformed adversaries.  While their dangerous activities were illegal, this was a dedicated group of art historians and preservationists. 

Art historians and preservationists???

Actually, I am not talking about Occupied Paris, the Nazis, or even World War II.  This resistance group is fighting against today's French government, and they preserve—or fail to preserve—the vast collection of cultural properties that belongs to the French people.  The group (called UX, for Urban eXperiment) does its work clandestinely, without asking for permission, and usually, without taking credit.

In a city filled with monuments, art work, and historic places, the government can’t—and in a lot of cases won’t—preserve everything.  That is when UX steps in.  Call them 'Cultural Resistance Fighters'.

It is famous/infamous for staging plays in monuments, for throwing invitation-only secret parties in the basements of government buildings, for holding film festivals in forgotten caverns, for repairing abandoned crypts, and (in at least one case) for leaving a letter on the desk of an embarrassed art museum curator, suggesting that the museum needed better security.  Should the crew choose to turn its talents to crime, there is no doubt that it could easily steal millions of dollars of art work.  Undoubtedly, some of its success is due to the fact that many of the officials charged with apprehending UX , secretly admire it and its exploits.

Which brings us to the Panthéon.   The huge neoclassical church was built in 1790, but became a secular mausoleum after the French Revolution.  This is where Foucault hung his pendulum and conducted his famous experiments, and there are a lot of important people buried within the walls—including Voltaire, Victor Hugo, Pierre and Marie Curie, Alexander Dumas, and Emile Zola.   In one of the transepts, just above where Rodin’s statue of The Thinker once sat in contemplation, a six-foot clock face was mounted into the wall, its mechanism connected to the chimes in the large dome.

Sometime late in the nineteenth century, the original aging clock was replaced with a state-of-the-art Wagner Clock mechanism.  These are massive and sturdy clocks that require a strong man to turn a hefty crank every day, and since the clock is in the central tower, it meant climbing a long set of stairs.  Displaying a typical Gallic work ethic, early in the 1960’s, someone decided it was a lot easier to  leave it broken down instead of climbing fifteen flights of stairs daily.  It has been speculated that the malfunction was administered with the liberal application of a crowbar.

The clock was neither repaired nor maintained, so for decades, the stopped clock simply gathered dust while the delicate machinery was allowed to rust.  Still, compared to the rest of the French government, the clock was a miracle of effectiveness, for it still managed to be correct twice a day.

Then, in September 2005, the Untergunther, a subset of UX, decided to restore the clock to working order.  Naturally, they didn’t ask for permission, incorrectly believing that it would be much easier to acquire forgiveness for a fait accompli. 

Gaining access to the building proved ridiculously easy, since most of the alarms broke down frequently.  The UX printed forged identity passes, and began setting up a workshop in an unused cavity within the domed tower.  Eventually, the workshop included such amenities as tables, chairs, a workbench, a refrigerator, a hotplate...and red curtains.  They even set up a computer and tapped into both the building’s network and the electrical grid.  It must have been pleasant work, as the windows, fifteen stories above street level, gave the circular room a panoramic view of Paris at night.

Remember, there are guards working in this building, not to mention a full staff from the Ministry of Silly Walks (or something).

The work took almost a year, and a new escape wheel had to be manufactured on site, but the Untergunther finally repaired the Wagner clock and got it working again.  Then, the UX made a strategic error:  They told the building’s director that the clock had been repaired, probably in the hope that someone would start climbing those stairs once a day to wind the mechanism. 

Evidently, they had forgotten they were dealing with a French government bureaucrat.  (Frequent readers of my blog have accused me of disliking the French, which is a damnable lie.  I love France.  To paraphrase Mark Twain, it is a shame the French have usually been governed by prostitutes.)

The alert building director, who had not noticed that the clock had started once again chiming on the hour and half-hour, refused to believe that the clock had been repaired, and became light-headed when the illicit workshop was revealed to him.   Dumbfounded, he stood staring at the working clock mechanism for a long time before he dutifully reported the news to the Centre of National Monuments—which promptly fired him.

The new director was no better, for he attempted to sue the UX, not only wanting 48,300 euros in “damage”, but demanding that the members of Untergunther be jailed for a year.  When this proved unsuccessful, he hired a clockmaker to remove the new escape wheel, once again stopping the historic timepiece.  For the last dozen years, the clock has once again been  correct twice a day, for the hands are stopped at 10:51.

There is hope, however.  The membership of UX is just waiting for the bureaucrats to have a change of heart.  The group is ready and willing to set the clock back in operation.  After the new administrator had the remanufactured escape wheel removed and safely locked up in his office, the UX promptly stole it back and is keeping it hidden.