The Last Mona Lisa

by Jonathan Santlofer

  “Until I’m…healed.”

  “I thought you were.”

  “I’m not talking about my lung. I just need…more time. I have to be here for my mother, so it won’t be long.”

  I was happy to hear that much, though I wanted to say, And what about me? What about us?

  Alex stood.

  “Wait—” I couldn’t control the urgency in my voice. “There are…things to say.”

  She sat again but perched as if ready to flee.

  “Nothing bad,” I said. “Just something I’ve been thinking about.”

  “Okay,” she said, chewing her lower lip, like she was expecting me to say something accusatory or terrible.

  For a moment, my mind went blank, all the thoughts, all the rehearsed sentences, gone. Instead, a question formed in my mind, something I had been thinking about since I’d come home. “Would you say the past influences the present, or the present influences the past? I mean, what we discover about the past, does that influence our present, who we are now, or is it the reverse?”

  “Very philosophical,” she said, and the worry on her face eased. She tapped a finger to her chin. “I’d guess I’d say it’s a little of both.” She was quiet a moment, looked away, then back at me. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about too, something I want to ask you.”

  I waited, those few seconds some of the longest in my life.

  “Can we ever forget the past? What was said and done. Get past it. Get over it?”

  “Yes,” I said, relieved, and reached for her hand. “I know I can.”

  Alex didn’t say anything, just let out a breath as if she’d been holding it in for a very long time. Then she gently wrapped her fingers around mine.

  The South of France

  Summer had come early this year, the middle of May, the sky a hazy blue, the sun strong and hot. Simon crept through tall purple irises and grass so new and green it looked fake. Vincent watched, sweat on his face and arms, soaking the back of his shirt. He had finished clearing logs from the house into the small shed he’d built so that he and Marguerite and the boy would have more room. Now he watched the boy, just three months shy of his third birthday, make his way across the lawn with intent, then saw what it was that had captured the toddler’s attention: a frog, leaping away each time the boy reached out to snatch it, each time failing and falling onto his side, laughing as if it tickled. Vincent laughed too.

  Somehow, he had done it, gotten past the grief. He had not forgotten Simone—no way he ever would or could, nor did he want to—but he had moved forward.

  He watched again as Simon lunged at the frog, missed again, tumbled and giggled, then another leap and grab, this time getting hold of the frog, which struggled in his hand. “Ooh!” Simon cried and looked back at Vincent, his arm outstretched to show off his prize. “Look!”

  “Good catch,” Vincent said.

  Simon cooed, the sun dappling his cheeks and bringing out the gold in his hair. Then, very consciously and deliberately, he opened his hand and watched the frog leap away.

  “Go, frog,” he said. “Go!”

  Vincent nodded and smiled. “Good boy,” he said, thinking how it was all in the game, in the chase and the capture. He thought of his time in prison, a memory starting to fade, as if it had happened to someone else. He thought of the promises he had made too, especially the one to Simone, that he would bring her the painting, a foolish promise that no longer mattered. What mattered was his last promise—to be happy—and he had kept it.

  He pictured Simone pirouetting, her wide skirt lifting above her ankles, her luminous smile.

  Simon took his time getting to his feet, somewhat unsteady, arms reaching up, and Vincent lifted him from the grass and held him, Simon gazing up at him with her face, Simone’s face. Then the boy threw his arms around Vincent’s neck. “Papa,” he said, and Vincent felt his heart opening so wide he thought it might burst. He hugged the boy, who nestled in the crook of his neck, looked past his golden curls to the stone house he had bought and refurbished, the bushes and shrubs he had planted, finally starting to bloom. He was no longer the immigrant, the drifter, the man without an identity. He was home now, a man with his son.

  Author’s Note

  What you have just read is based on a true story.

  These are the facts:

  Vincent Peruggia, a one-time Louvre employee, stole the Mona Lisa from the museum on August 21, 1911. The details of the theft have been reenacted in the opening scene—how Peruggia spent the night in a museum closet, removed the painting from the wall, and left the frame and box he himself had constructed in a hallway—all this based on reports of the crime.

  The newspaper stories about the theft have been taken from actual articles.

  It is also true that Peruggia hid the painting in a specially designed trunk in his apartment and that he attempted to ransom the painting to the Italian government at the Uffizi Museum, where he was arrested and sent to Murate Prison, in Florence, Italy.

  After the theft, the Louvre Museum did close for a week and was searched by sixty policemen.

  All the rewards mentioned in the novel are true: the Louvre posted a reward of 25,000 francs, as did the two newspapers, Le Matin, which offered 5,000 and L’Illustration, which offered 40,000.

  The artist Pablo Picasso, along with the poet and art critic Guillaume Apollinaire, were suspected of the crime, brought in for questioning regarding the theft, interrogated, even tried, but eventually freed.

  Both the Marquis Eduardo de Valfiero and the art forger Yves Chaudron were real people, both suspected of playing a part in the crime, though this was never proved. Of their ending, little is known.

  A vandal really did toss acid at the Mona Lisa, and another threw a rock; both incidents occurred in 1956 and caused some damage to the painting, though not serious.

  Many forgeries (one might call them “variations”) of Leonardo’s Mona Lisa exist.

  More than one art historian has speculated that Leonardo’s Mona Lisa in the Louvre Museum could possibly be a forgery, switched at the time of the infamous theft (or even before, which would mean that Vincent Peruggia stole a forgery only to replace it with another forgery; see newspaper article on page 52). These bits of conjecture and doubt are what inspired my story.

  Reading Group Guide

  1. How do you define art? What would you say makes a masterpiece?

  2. Art theft and forgery are complicated and fascinating crimes. Why would someone prefer to own a masterpiece (which must be kept secret) rather than viewing it in a museum? Is forgery an art unto itself?

  3. Had you heard of Vincent Perrugia’s theft of the Mona Lisa before reading the book? What else did you learn while reading?

  4. Early on, Luke seems to have a different sense of time than the Italians around him and is told to be more patient. How do American values contribute to impatience? How can we slow down in our daily lives?

  5. John Washington Smith decides against using official INTERPOL channels when Luke’s communications with Quattrocchi first catch his attention. Why did he want to pursue the matter personally? What were the consequences of his decision?

  6. Describe Alex. What does she want? Do you think she is justified in doing what she does?

  7. While posing as an art dealer, Smith suggests that buying and selling art doesn’t contribute to the betterment of mankind. Do you agree? How do monetary transactions shape our ideas of artistic and social value?

  8. Vincent resists becoming involved in the theft for a long time. What finally convinces him to steal the Mona Lisa? How does economic inequality perpetuate crime?

  9. Smith describes making and collecting art as an addiction. Do you think his viewpoint is supported by the events of the book? Can you think of any real-world examples that prove him right?

  10. Chaudron is meticulous
in his forgeries, but he can’t resist signing them. What do you think motivates him to endanger his work, even subtly? Would you take such a risk in his position?

  11. What drives Luke to break his long record of sobriety? How does it compare to his temptation in Florence?

  12. Why does Luke keep digging after he returns to New York? Would you have been so persistent in his place?

  A Conversation with the Author

  How did you first hear about Vincent Peruggia’s theft of the Mona Lisa?

  I was reading a pamphlet about the history of the Louvre museum, and it was mentioned in one sentence, but it stayed with me and captured my imagination: the idea that someone actually stole the Mona Lisa right out of the museum!

  Do you think your interpretation of events could be the truth?

  I based as much as I could on facts—newspaper articles about the theft and art historians who had various theories—but when it comes down to it, what I love most is to invent stories and scenarios that might have been.

  Luke and Smith have an unusual partnership. Was there anything in particular that inspired their wary trust and reliance on each other?

  At first, their relationship is based on need; they cannot get what they want or succeed alone. After a while, they start to respect each other’s intelligence and dedication. I thought a lot about these two men, how they came from tough backgrounds and had to create themselves, become new people, something many of us do to move forward, sometimes to survive. I saw that as an eventual bond between them, seeing something of themselves in the other person. To me, that is one of the most important human qualities: the ability to empathize with others.

  You’re an artist and replicator yourself. How did your experiences in that realm shape the book?

  Having gone to art school and being a painter helped me understand Luke and his desires as well as those of the art forger in the book, Yves Chaudron.

  I have been painting replications of known artworks for art collectors for over two decades. Though I would never try to pass them off as forgeries, I do my best to make exact copies while abiding by the legal guidelines concerning art replication: I change the size or medium, I use contemporary art supplies that would be detected under scientific scrutiny, and I always sign MY name on the back. Making “fakes” has given me tremendous insight into the world of art forgery, how you sort of slip into the skin of the artist whose work you are replicating and how exciting it is to have this finished painting that looks exactly like that famous Picasso or Manet, but you made it.

  When my daughter was about ten, she asked why I didn’t just sell my reproductions as the originals. I explained why it was illegal to replicate other people’s artwork and try to pass it off as your own. She understood but still thought I should try to sell my copy as the real thing!

  What are the most common misconceptions about forgery and replication of famous masterpieces?

  I think most people believe art forgeries are easily detected, but that’s not true. Many forgers elude detection for decades, fooling museums, auction houses, and experts. Eventually, they make a mistake (like accidentally using a pigment that was not invented until a few years after the painting they are forging), and that’s it—they get caught. There are many forgeries in well-known art collections and museums all over the world, awaiting detection.

  How do you build your characters? Do any of your friends or acquaintances make their way onto the page?

  For me, characters come to life on the page. I have an idea about a character, but I don’t really know who they are until I start writing them. Then I have to think about how they look, how they talk, what motivates them. And they change all the time. I’m always rereading and thinking, So and so would never say that. Some of my friends and their attributes do sneak in, but for the most part, my characters become themselves, and I tend to think of them as real people who actually exist. If anyone, they might all have a little bit of me in them, as I am the one writing/creating them.

  Which of the characters do you most relate to? Did you have a favorite to write?

  In this book, I am closest to Luke. He’s the younger, taller, handsomer, smarter, more talented me. Although whoever I am writing at the moment tends to be my favorite. And I love writing bad guys and psychopaths, because I’m always trying to see what makes them tick. Awful people are so much fun on the page and so awful in real life!

  Smith describes private collectors as thieves keeping art away from the rest of the world. Do you agree with him?

  No. It made sense for his INTERPOL character to think like that, but most art collectors I know are people who love art and want to fill their lives with it. If I could afford it, I’d do the same.

  How can art be shared most equitably?

  Museums are great equitable places, public warehouses that take care of masterpieces big and small. I was just in NYC’s Metropolitan Museum of Art, and it’s one of the best places in the world. You can spend the day imagining yourself in ancient armor or walk around the Egyptian Temple of Dendur or look at Impressionist paintings—any art you desire is there.

  But there are many kinds of “art.” You can frame a block of stamps (as I did with a recent Marvin Gaye stamp), put it on the wall, and it looks amazing and only cost the price of the stamps.

  The layers of surveillance make the plot nerve-racking, even when Luke’s research is taking its time to progress. How do you balance suspense and frustration in your pacing?

  A character’s frustration has nothing to do with a book’s pacing, which is a separate thing that you, the author, control. The reader is thinking Hurry up, Luke, because they’re ahead of him and worried, which is what you want because it ratchets up the suspense.

  Do you have any advice for aspiring authors, especially those interested in history and thrillers?

  I always say read. Things come to you when you’re reading that might not otherwise. Plus, you learn from other writers. If you want to write thrillers, read a lot of them and dissect a couple to see how the author constructed the plot. The same with historical novels. My initial inspiration for writing this book came from two novels, Possession and The French Lieutenant’s Woman. Of course I read so many crime novels that a part of my brain is always thinking Where is the mystery? And in any book, I need to know What is the “engine” that is driving this story?

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks to Shana Drehs for her faith, astute editing, and ease, along with Molly Waxman, Kirsten Wenum, the talented art department, and the rest of the extraordinary Sourcebooks Landmark team. My friends SJ Rozan, Janice Deaner, Tolga Ornek, and Joyce Carol Oates for their feedback. For providing beautiful refuge when I needed it, Susan Crile, Jane Rivkin, and Margo Alexander. For encouraging me to take the trip back to Florence, my daughter, Doria, who encourages and inspires me every day. Judd Tully for introducing me to Lorenzo Pezzatini, who was not only great company but got me into Le Murate prison, and to Valentina Gensini, the director of le Murate Progetti Arte Contemporanea Florence. For being my personal Italian translator, Vito Racanelli. Parts of this book were written (and rewritten) at the Writers Room, NYC, and at Yaddo, the best place any artist could ever hope to be. And with special thanks and gratitude to my agent and tireless editor, Jane von Mehren.

  About the Author

  Jonathan Santlofer is a writer and artist. His debut novel, The Death Artist, was an international bestseller, and his novel Anatomy of Fear won the Nero Award for best crime novel of 2009. Jonathan created the Crime Fiction Academy at the Center for Fiction. As an artist, he has been making replications of famous paintings for private collectors for more than twenty years.

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