I saw an open door … It led to a crypt

An open door, a crypt, a well – let's go inside …

What surprised me as I walked along a Parisian street was that a small door on the side of a medieval stone church was open. The door opened onto the pavement, not behind a fence, but directly facing the street. I kept walking. I stopped. I looked back at the door. It was not wide open – it was half open, but open nonetheless. I turned back. I looked into the entrance … and I entered.  

I often walked along the pavement next to the Catholic Church of Saint-Sulpice in the 6^tharrondissement of Paris. It is a large, medieval church, dating back to 1646, only slightly smaller than the famous Notre-Dame Cathedral. While Notre-Dame is still being renovated after the fire of 15 April 2019, the Church of Saint-Sulpice is serving as its proxy as well as safe-guarding the cathedral’s treasures. The front doors are often open and welcoming, but I had never seen the small steel door on the side street open before.

The sign said: Saint Francis Chapel, Crypt of the Well. A crypt is an underground room or vault beneath the church used as a chapel or burial site. The church holds guided tours regularly, but the guided tours of the crypts are held only on the second and fourth Sunday of the month, and only by booking in advance. Tours with English-speaking guides are held only on one day a month for a few hours.

I was curious. I had to see what was down there, and how far I could go. I stepped downwards into the crypt.

The Crypt of the Well is only one of the crypts of the Church of Saint-Sulpice. The well was once located in front of the church’s main entrance, where the fountain now stands.

The Crypt of the Well, as I found out, was undergoing renovations and the side door was open to admit construction workers. When I entered, no-one was there – anywhere. Not a single person. Not one.

Ladders, pipes, wires, stored furniture, cardboard boxes, buckets, and mops – all there – but not a living soul.  

Lutetian limestone walls were arched and worn; excavated tunnels turned towards locked iron gates; blockish brutalist-like architecture juxtaposed ornate Baroque columns; but modern light gave way to diluvial darkness.

I am not deep into the bowels of the church for this crypt is close to curbside. But I hear no street noise. I hear the haunting beat and lyrics of The Phantom’s 2008 song Into the Darkness. And then, further into the darkness, as I peer towards the distant light, I remember Jan OmO – the One-man-Orchestra from Germany, whose real name is Jan Wolf – singing his 2022 lyrics to Kingdom of Yesterday:

Past the wrought iron gates

Into the overgrown maze

Through a crack in the wall

Down the crypt she waits.

Down the crypt I don’t wait for someone to appear. I’ve ambled long enough through the tunnels, so I return to the entrance, and wonder whether I should shut the door behind me. Who would know that I was ever here? Having heard no-one, having seen no-one, having met no-one. Not a living soul.

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