MONA LISA Stolen by Louvre Employee ~ August 21, 1911

Mona Lisa (also known as La Gioconda) is a 16th century portrait painted in oil on a poplar panel by Leonardo da Vinci during the Italian Renaissance. [Leonardo brought it with him to France when he entered the service of Francois I in 1516. He died there in 1519 and is buried at the Chateau d'Amboise.] The work is owned by the Government of France and is on the wall in the Louvre in Paris, France with the title Portrait of Lisa Gherardini, wife of Francesco del Giocondo. It is perhaps the most famous painting in the world.

The painting is a half-length portrait and depicts a woman whose expression is often described as enigmatic. The ambiguity of the sitter's expression, the monumentality of the half-figure composition, and the subtle modeling of forms and atmospheric illusionism were novel qualities that have contributed to the painting's continuing fascination. Few other works of art have been subject to as much scrutiny, study, mythologizing, and parody.

The Mona Lisa painting now hangs in the Musée du Louvre in Paris, France. The painting's increasing fame was further emphasized when it was stolen on August 21, 1911. The next day, Louis Béroud, a painter, walked into the Louvre and went to the Salon Carré where the Mona Lisa had been on display for five years. However, where the Mona Lisa should have stood, he found four iron pegs. Béroud contacted the section head of the guards, who thought the painting was being photographed for marketing purposes. A few hours later, Béroud checked back with the section head of the museum, and it was confirmed that the Mona Lisa was not with the photographers. The Louvre was closed for an entire week to aid in investigation of the theft.

French poet Guillaume Apollinaire, who had once called for the Louvre to be "burnt down," came under suspicion; he was arrested and put in jail. Apollinaire tried to implicate his friend Pablo Picasso, who was also brought in for questioning, but both were later exonerated.

At the time, the painting was believed to be lost forever, and it would be two years before the real thief was discovered. Louvre employee Vincenzo Peruggia stole it by entering the building during regular hours, hiding in a broom closet and walking out with it hidden under his coat after the museum had closed. Peruggia was an Italian patriot who believed Leonardo's painting should be returned to Italy for display in an Italian museum. Peruggia may have also been motivated by a friend who sold copies of the painting, which would skyrocket in value after the theft of the original. After having kept the painting in his apartment for two years, Peruggia grew impatient and was finally caught when he attempted to sell it to the directors of the Uffizi Gallery in Florence; it was exhibited all over Italy and returned to the Louvre in 1913. Peruggia was hailed for his patriotism in Italy and only served a few months in jail for the crime.

During World War II, the painting was again removed from the Louvre and taken safely, first to Château d'Amboise, then to the Loc-Dieu Abbey and finally to the Ingres Museum in Montauban. In 1956, the lower part of the painting was severely damaged when a vandal doused the painting with acid. On December 30 of that same year a young Bolivian damaged the painting by throwing a rock at it. This resulted in the loss of a speck of pigment near the left elbow, which was later painted over.

Image & Text:wikipedia.com

A First Day in PARIS

I was a weird little kid. I was somewhat knowledgeable and would have been absolutely thrilled to wander through the Louvre as an eleven-year-old. * But I didn’t visit until I was thirty. I did go to Paris for a single day when I was twenty-nine. It was the Monday after the middle weekend of my first fortnight in Britain – thirty years ago next month.

My Australian friend, Jeffrey Hardy, was living in Farnham, Surrey, and was an actor in the Michael Redgrave Repertory Theatre there. He invited me to visit. I saw him in a performance of Tom Stoppard’s play Jumpers. I recall that I stayed with him at the home of a Miss Titmarsh, and used Farnham as my base for going around England. I went as far north as Edinburgh, and had lovely days in York, Cambridge (to hear the choirs at Kings College and St. Johns), Oxford, and London, of course, for St. Paul’s, Temple Church, Westminster Abbey, and the Queen’s Chapel at St. James Palace— the National Gallery, Tate, British Museum and the V & A. I took a boat trip to Greenwich, and enjoyed a beautiful Sunday at Canterbury Cathedral.

My brother Sherry and his wife Sallie had recommended I go to Paris, if only for a day. So from Canterbury, I took the train to Dover and had a night crossing to Dunkirk and arrived in Paris early Monday morning. I didn’t take any public transportation, but walked all over the city. I had planned to do only three things for sure: visit Sainte-Chapelle, Notre Dame, and Les Invalides (Napoleon’s tomb). Of course, I did more. It was a perfect autumn day. I particularly enjoyed strolling through the Jardin Luxembourg, and climbing the Eiffel Tower as high as you were then allowed to go.

On my return to Gare du Nord, I noticed the headlines: “Jacques Brel Est Mort!” So my first day in Paris, was the first day that Jacques Brel was not alive and well and living in Paris.

A year ago July, I was in France for my nephew Sheridan’s wedding in Nantes. I spent July 4^th in Paris and most of that in the Louvre. My Polish friend, Adam, texted me, and I replied: “Here I sit in the loo in the Louvre.” Quipped AK: “So that’s how you celebrate your national holiday!”

* As an eleven-year old, I stunned our dentist neighbor from Baltimore, whose cottage adjoined ours on Pine Island on Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire. The Cooke family had just returned from a vacation in Europe and put on a slide show for us. Dr. Cooke proudly showed us slides of his favorite places in Italy. When he put up one particular slide from Venice, I said: “It looks like a Titian.” I don’t think I had ever seen it before. It just looked like a Titian to me. In fact it was: the Assunta (Assumption of the Virgin) in Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, Venice’s enormous Franciscan church, where my partner Dennis currently resides in an inlaid Moroccan box underneath an enormous chest within sight of that wondrous altar piece.