My Life in Focus

by Gianni Bozzacchi,Joey Tayler

  In the morning I took a shower, had breakfast, and took another shower. To this day I’ve no idea why I took that second shower. At the time it seemed of crucial importance. When a beautiful Rolls-Royce Phantom came to take me to the palace, I was in the grip of panic. I couldn’t find the keys to the bags where I’d put my cameras. I’d left them in my studio in Rome. I began to think I wasn’t destined to take these photos. But the porter was Italian and recognized me. “Monsieur Bozzacchi, if you’d care . . .” he said in French, with a strong Italian accent. I interrupted him. “Speak the way your mother taught you,” I snapped, at which he rephrased his question in Italian: “You want me to open your bag?” He then ran to a small stockroom, grabbed a huge ring of keys, and had the thing open in a flash. “I’m the Saint Peter of the Hotel de Paris,” he said in fluent Roman.

  I was saved, but soaked in sweat, steam coming out of my ears. The drive to the palace was too short to allow me time to relax. When I arrived, guards at the gate gave me a military salute. A concierge helped me out of the car and welcomed me, “Bienvenu au palais, Monsieur Bozzacchi,” he said.

  I crossed a courtyard and climbed a stone staircase to an imposing column, where other staff and dignitaries were waiting for me, all impeccably dressed. “Bonjour, Monsieur Bozzacchi! Bonjour!” they all exclaimed, while I did a round of broad smiles and endless handshakes, proceeding through a merry-go-round of “bonjours,” praying my French was a little better than my English.

  Monsieur George Lukosky, the royal family’s master-at-arms, led me through to the Hall of Crystals. “I’m a photographer myself, you know,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay and watch.” George and I would become good friends. But that first time I wasn’t very nice to him. He did everything he could to make me feel welcome, chatting a bit about work, photographer to photographer. But I couldn’t concentrate on anything he said—or anything anyone else said, for that matter. I was too agitated, dazzled by that hall with its enormous arched doors, flower displays everywhere, huge windows, and crystal chandeliers glittering in the sunlight. The windows gave onto the main square, where tourists gathered to watch the changing of the guard. I recognized the famous balcony from where Rainier had presented his new wife back in 1956 and where the royal family made public appearances to announce the birth of a new child or give official statements. I’d never been in such a sumptuous place, not even on any of my travels with Elizabeth and Richard. When George left the room, I proceeded to pace up and down a thick-pile Persian carpet, my head bowed, studying every detail in its elaborate design. Except for the soft swish of my shoes over the carpet, total silence reigned in the hall.

  At some point I turned and found Princess Grace standing in a distant doorway, smiling. I snapped up straight and set out toward her. When our eyes crossed my heart plunged. I had no idea what the protocol might be. No one had told me how I should address the prince and princess. Monsieur Bozzacchi, the “new king of the camera,” surely knew how to do all that stuff already, right? No. I didn’t. I slowed my pace, evaluating a series of options as I drew ever closer to the princess. Shake her hand, kiss it, bow, genuflect, or just keep walking clear on through to Rome? By the time I reached her, I still hadn’t decided on any of them. I just stood there, frozen, terrified at the idea of not doing the right thing. Elizabeth, Richard, and all their social class filled me with awe, but this was true royalty. Grace did her best to put me at my ease. She spoke to me in French, asking me if I’d had a good flight, if I was happy with the hotel. Then she asked me about my photos, whether I needed anything in particular for my shoot.

  But I interrupted her. I knew we wouldn’t get anywhere until I got an answer to the question that had been haunting me throughout my trip from Rome, my wanderings through the streets of Monte Carlo, the question that had kept me awake all night. “Your Highness, please don’t misunderstand me. I’m deeply honored to be here, I’m sincerely grateful to have this opportunity, but first I have to know . . . why me?”

  Grace simply smiled. That one smile meant so much to me, and means even more to me today. It was her way of showing that she appreciated my work as well as my professional humility. “Mr. Bozzacchi,” she replied, “I’ve known Elizabeth, Mrs. Burton, for some time, I might say forever. In recent years, her image has changed. Every time I see a photo of her that I like in a magazine, I check who took it. And they are all yours. You’ve succeeded in presenting her as a woman, mother, wife, and actress of great depth as well as a movie star. That’s why I asked for you.”

  Prince Rainier—followed by George—entered the hall. He was a fascinating man. His contagious laugh comes back to me as I write this passage. He asked Grace something, then turned to me and said, “Excuse me, maestro.” I glanced behind me, expecting to see another artist. But no one was there. I couldn’t believe it. He’d addressed me as “maestro.” A few moments later we were interrupted by Caroline and Stephanie, their two daughters, aged seventeen and nine at the time. I stood to one side and watched Grace, admiring the patient and affectionate way she behaved with the two girls. For a moment I forgot I was in the presence of a movie star and princess.

  That was when I got my inspiration, the angle I’d been looking for. I thought back over the official portraits I’d seen the previous night in all those shop windows, their detached, cold, severe look. I recalled other photos of Grace published in the French press, taken with so much light that they made her look icy, too immaculate. With a very beautiful, friendly, and elegant woman like Princess Grace, a precise and perfect modern Cinderella in her own right, that technique produced a publicity poster image. Worse still, a boring one. Grace came out looking beautiful, but static and perfect, too perfect. I wanted to capture that elegance and charm but without making it look too formal. I’d try something no one had dared try before: photos that would go beyond the aura of mystery surrounding the princess and reveal the Grace that Giampiero had seen during her wedding on television, the Grace that she herself saw—a person like anyone else.

  I didn’t take many photos during that first visit. I took a few shots of the family. Then Grace took me to their private apartments, where I caught some more intimate moments. Walking through the palace was like going on a tour of the history of Monaco, as we passed through halls dating to 1200 and on upstairs to the chic, highly modern royal apartments. At last I began to feel at ease. Grace helped immensely. She knew how to behave in front of a camera. Now and then, while I was getting one shot set up and measuring the light, I’d grab another camera and snap a quick photo from another angle. Grace liked those almost stolen snaps, catching her in moments when she was more relaxed, unprepared. Not knowing when I was about to shoot, she didn’t have time to adopt a pose or fix her hair. All she could do was be herself, and this created the natural look I wanted. I did, of course, do some posed shots, exploiting the room’s natural light to soften her face rather than make it more rigid with artificial light. While I worked, I chatted. A photographer has to maintain an intelligent conversation in order to create a certain feeling. The composition is important in a photo, of course. But so is the extent to which you get in tune with your subject.

  Prince Rainier of Monaco and Princess Grace Kelly pose for me at home. Until Grace came to town, European aristocrats didn’t do that kind of thing.

  Princess Grace poses in natural light, displaying her own natural grace.

  Princess Grace shows her inimitable class, style, and genuine smile. I still remember how quickly she put me at ease.

  After developing the photos back in my studio in Rome, I returned to Monte Carlo with negatives and prints and spent an evening with Grace showing her the slides and photos. She never once said, “I don’t like that,” but always something like, “Maybe, though I prefer the other one. What do you think?” She was extremely kind and I knew she respected my professional opinion, which strengthened my own faith in myself as a person and as an artist. I got back to Rome very satisfied before returning
one last time to complete the layout.

  On that last visit I realized what a truly extraordinary person Grace was. Over a number of days, I followed her on her rounds, taking photos while she worked for the Red Cross, gave an interview to the Herald Tribune, visited a dance academy. I’ve never seen a celebrity give so much of herself to the needy, and with such generosity. I was being paid to take photos designed to give Rainier’s family a friendly face. But Grace was friendly already, kind and thoughtful with every child she met, just as she was with her own children. She listened attentively to every worker, intervened to help when she could, and readily discussed how the royal family might assist one charity organization or another. I’d met a lot of “classy” people with Elizabeth and Richard, people who would never look a waiter in the eye or give a driver a decent tip. But watching Grace commit herself so thoroughly to improving other people’s lives made me appreciate what true class really means.

  When seventeen-year-old Princess Caroline started to give me this kind of eye, it took one gesture from her father to keep mine firmly on the job.

  I left that dance academy with six telephone numbers in my pocket. Given that I was working for the royal family, though, I didn’t dare call any of them. Grace was amused by all the attention I got from young women, and as the days went by, she began letting her own hair down too. She asked me about Elizabeth, Claudye, our wedding. I believe that getting to know me better helped her relax in front of my camera as well as trust me with the task of caring for her family’s image, which is something very important when you’re trying to take natural photos of people accustomed to appearing highly stylized in the public eye. One day Grace asked me to photograph Caroline, who had just turned seventeen and was already breathtakingly beautiful. The way she flirted with my lens left her mother and me speechless. That evening, returning to the hotel, I bumped into Caroline again. There was now no camera between us, and I could see that this time she was flirting with me for real. Nothing happened, however. We chatted for a while in the lobby, and then she went home to her palace.

  Prince Rainier at his desk, the hub of a world within which nothing escaped his notice, including his daughter Caroline’s whereabouts . . .

  The following day, when I arrived to continue my photo shoot, George took me directly to Rainier’s office, where I found the prince sitting behind his desk. He took one look at me and, without saying a word, shook a silent “no” with his finger. That was Rainier’s power. No one in his realm did or said anything without His Highness getting to know about it. He wasn’t angry. He knew I’d done nothing inappropriate. He just wanted to make things absolutely clear. I gave a nod of agreement, to which he replied, “Good. In that case, let’s go get a coffee.”

  On one occasion, Rainier asked me to take a profile portrait of his face to be used on a Monaco coin. He wasn’t someone who liked having his picture taken. But I told him what to do and he followed orders. When I showed him the prints I also offered to smooth out his obvious double chin (you’d Photoshop it today). But he turned me down. “I’ve never been vain,” he said. “Leave it in.” So I did, and the coin duly went into circulation, chins and all.

  Prince Rainier told me to leave the chins in. So I did.

  We established a good understanding, though he was never as relaxed in front of my camera as Grace was. I just told him what to do and he did it. He didn’t remember having met me on Elizabeth and Richard’s yacht, which was both a sadness and a relief. I’d vowed that this time I’d conquer my insecurities and leave a good impression. Rainier loved laughing and asked me if I knew any Italian jokes. I told him one about Mussolini, in Italian. We also shared a passion for cars, so Rainier showed me his extraordinary collection, and we swapped opinions about the famous Monte Carlo Grand Prix that had cost Bandini his life. Before my own accident, when I still thought I might have some chance as a professional driver, I’d dreamed of flashing round bends on the Monte Carlo circuit, shouting at the top of my voice as I sped down those straights that cut through the heart of town. Now, thanks to a lucky quirk of fate, I was safely chatting about the race with Prince Rainier himself, instead of looking down on Monte Carlo from on high, alongside poor Bandini.

  Prince Rainier shows me his collection of cars. That’s the top of my head you can see in the first photo.

  Prince Rainier and Princess Grace in their palace gardens, 1974.

  The moment finally arrived to take photos of the whole family together, portraits that would be put to formal use. I set up to photograph them as I would any other family: first, all of them together; then just Grace and Rainier; and, finally, just the children. Hoping to get photos with a more relaxed than usual look, I asked Rainier to put his arm around his son Albert’s shoulder, instead of the pair of them merely standing at attention behind the women. Albert was just sixteen, a prince maybe, but a teenager all the same. That simple gesture was enough to make Rainier’s face shine with sincere affection, and Albert’s shone with that pride any boy feels when his father makes him feel important. Grace was sitting in front of them on an antique armchair, her hands in her lap, looking serene and at peace in her own home. I got Caroline to sit on one of the chair’s armrests and asked Stéphanie to lean on the other. Immediately, everyone loosened up for the rest of the shoot. The end result was undoubtedly an official photo, but freed of that traditional rigid formality. It’s a portrait of a royal family, yes, but also of a family that simply likes being together.

  With the photo done, I let the children leave. Grace remained seated and asked Rainier to lean forward and rest his elbow on the back of her chair. She let her arm slip onto the armrest where Caroline had been sitting, rotating her upper body toward Rainier as if she were about to turn and look at him. In that moment, you sense how attracted Grace is to her husband, even though she can’t see him.

  These are nuances that might escape someone looking at these photos hurriedly or from a distance. However, in my opinion, their unique quality is due to just such detail. Three essential elements of a photo are: an objective, the subject and photographer being patient with each other, and an ability to adapt. I’d been asked to do portraits for the Monaco Jubilee, and that’s how they appear at first glance: official portraits. But Grace also wanted to show the world another aspect of her family life, and that’s what comes through in the visible affection you see between Rainier and Albert as well as in the way the girls draw close to Grace, their mother. For my part, I wanted to show the world the person behind Cinderella: a mother, a wife, a reserved woman with impeccable class.

  On only one occasion did Grace assume a very stylized pose. I was trying to catch a natural expression when she caught me off guard and froze, just as any actress would for a glossy magazine. “Do you miss Hollywood?” I asked, to which she smiled and replied that the subject was taboo. In my opinion, she would have loved to do another movie. But she had children now, and was happy with her new life.

  My official photo of the Monaco royal family. The usual rigid formality of such shots easily dissolved in the sincere affection they felt for each other.

  I went back to the palace later to show the family other photos, and Grace made a very singular gesture: she approved all of them. She also gave me permission to sell them, and I gave all the money they earned to Grace’s favorite organization, the Red Cross. My photos were hung in every official location in Monte Carlo, including the police station—as I would soon discover.

  While wrapping up the royal family portfolio, I’d also been working on a six-week project doing photos for tourist guides. It gave me a chance to get to know the palace and Monte Carlo better. One day I was out in a car with a good friend, the actor Fabio Testi. We were going to the premiere of That Most Important Thing: Love—a movie that would win Romy Schneider a Cesar Award—when we were pulled over by the cops. Even though I wasn’t driving, one of the officers asked for my license. Fabio and I hadn’t shaved for days and looked like trouble, so they took us down to the stat
ion. A policeman asked me why I was in Monaco. I said I’d been on my way to a movie premiere. He then asked if I had a work permit, to which I replied with a nod, indicating a poster of the royal family that was hanging behind him, bearing my signature on the bottom of it. He took the gesture for rudeness, so I asked if I could use the phone, and called the palace, asking for George Lukosky. The moment the officer heard that name, he snapped to attention. I explained what had happened, and George asked to speak to the man immediately. No one asked for any more documents, and we were out of the place before you could blink.

  I was in Los Angeles on September 14, 1982, when I heard that Grace had died following a car accident. She was fifty-two. Her daughter Stephanie was in the car with her, but had survived. It was devastating news. It seemed so unjust that God should take back such an exceptional person so early. I was immediately flooded with magazine and newspaper requests to use my photos for their articles. I felt truly disturbed by the speed at which a media circus exploded around such a tragedy, and gave no one permission to use any of my photos. I didn’t want to see my work under those headlines.

  Grace was buried in the Grimaldi mausoleum after a requiem mass in Monaco’s Saint Nicholas Cathedral. Everyone who was anyone attended her funeral, from England’s Princess Diana to Gary Cooper. In his eulogy, James Stewart said: “You know, I just love Grace Kelly. Not because she was a princess, not because she was an actress, not because she was my friend, but because she was just about the nicest lady I ever met. Grace brought into my life, as she brought into yours, a soft, warm light every time I saw her, and every time I saw her was a holiday of its own. No question, I’ll miss her, we’ll all miss her, God bless you, Princess Grace.”