The Day the Mona Lisa Went Missing

When Leonardo da Vinci painted The Mona Lisa in the early 1500s, he couldn’t have guessed her fame would come not from her smile — but her disappearance.

In this premiere episode of Art Happens: The Divine Mess of Art History, host James William Moore uncovers the wild true story behind the 1911 theft that turned a quiet Renaissance portrait into the most famous painting in the world.

Meet Vincenzo Peruggia — the handyman-turned-art-thief who stole a masterpiece, baffled Paris, and accidentally made art history.

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Transcript

HOST (James William Moore):

Welcome to Art Happens: The Divine Mess of Art History. – presented by J-Squared Atelier.

I’m James William Moore — and today, we’re looking into one of the greatest art capers ever committed.

The 1911 theft that transformed Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa from a quiet Renaissance portrait into the most famous face on the planet.

HOST (James William Moore):

Before we talk about the theft, we’ve got to talk about her — and him.

Leonardo da Vinci wasn’t just a painter — he was a one-man Renaissance movement.

Born in 1452 in a small Tuscan town called Vinci — yes, that’s where the name comes from — Leonardo was the guy who did everything.

Painter, inventor, engineer, anatomist, philosopher… probably would’ve been a podcaster if he’d been born five centuries later.

By the early 1500s, he’d already painted The Last Supper, dissected cadavers to map human muscles, designed flying machines, and written thousands of pages of notes backward — literally backward — because, why not?

So when a wealthy silk merchant in Florence, Francesco del Giocondo, asked Leonardo to paint a portrait of his wife, Lisa Gherardini, it was just another commission.

Or so it seemed.

He started the portrait around 1503, probably in his studio overlooking the Arno River.

Lisa’s expression — that almost-smile — wasn’t a mystery to her; it was likely just the polite face one makes when sitting still for hours while a genius mutters about light and shadow.

But Leonardo was obsessed. He tinkered with the painting for years — carrying it with him from Florence to Milan, then to France.

It was never delivered to the Giocondo family.

Instead, Leonardo kept it — like a creative who just couldn’t stop editing their masterpiece. And the painting was small — just 30 by 21 inches, painted in oil on a thin poplar wood panel.

When he died in 1519, the painting was in his studio in France and passed to King Francis I, who hung it in his royal bathroom — yes, bathroom — at the Château de Fontainebleau.

JAMES (amused):

From royal plumbing decor to the Louvre’s main attraction — not a bad career arc.

But here’s the twist: for three hundred years, she sat quietly.

No mobs. No selfies.

Just another Renaissance portrait admired by artists, scholars, and the occasional royal visitor.

It wasn’t until her dramatic disappearance in 1911 that she became the Mona Lisa — a global celebrity with a smile that launched a thousand conspiracy theories.

On the morning of Monday, August 21, 1911, the Louvre was closed for maintenance.

Vincenzo Peruggia, Purr woo juh an Italian handyman with access, opportunity, and a misguided sense of patriotism - arrived early, dressed in a white worker’s smock — the same as museum staff.

He walked straight through the doors, past guards who didn’t even glance at him.

He lifted the painting off the wall, removed its frame, and hid it under his coat.

Then he simply… walked out.

No alarms. No chase. Just silence.

Hours passed. A day. Then two.

Visitors came and went, assuming the Mona Lisa had been taken for cleaning or photography.

It wasn’t until Wednesday morning that a painter arrived to study her — and found nothing but four empty wall hooks.

JAMES (building energy):

The Louvre exploded into chaos.

By nightfall, news hit the presses.

“THE MONA LISA STOLEN FROM THE LOUVRE!” screamed headlines across Europe.

Crowds flooded the museum not to see art — but to see the absence of art.

JAMES (ironic):

Even Pablo Picasso was questioned — dragged in by police because he’d once bought stolen sculptures.

But there was no trace of the painting, or of Peruggia.Purr woo juh

While France panicked, Peruggia kept the Mona Lisa tucked away in his one-room Paris flat.

He claimed he’d hidden her in a false-bottom trunk — right under his own bed — where she stayed for two years.

No black-market deal. No ransom note. Just… waiting.

JAMES (reflective):

When asked why, Peruggia said he wanted to “return her to Italy,” believing — wrongly — that Napoleon had stolen her.

In truth, Leonardo brought her to France himself, likely selling or gifting her to King Francis I in the 1500s.

So, Peruggia’s act of patriotism was based on bad history — and very good irony.

It’s 1913.

In Florence, art dealer Alfredo Geri receives a letter from a man claiming to possess the missing masterpiece.

Peruggia arrives with a trunk. He opens it.

And there she is — Leonardo’s enigmatic portrait, perfectly intact.

Police are called. Peruggia is arrested.

The painting tours Italy briefly before returning to Paris to thunderous crowds.

JAMES:

Ironically, the painting’s homecoming turned her into a superstar.

Millions saw her face on front pages.

She’d been missing for two years — and now, she was a living myth.

JAMES:

Before the theft, Mona Lisa was admired — but not adored.

Afterward, she became a symbol: of mystery, of genius, of art itself.

The world didn’t fall in love with her smile until it lost it.

Writers described her as “the woman who vanished.”

Artists painted parodies.

Salvador Dalí called her “the ultimate ghost of beauty.”

Leonardo’s art gave her form — but Peruggia’s crime gave her fame.

A strange partnership between genius and thief.

JAMES (softly):

It turns out, the Mona Lisa didn’t become famous for her smile…

but for her absence.

JAMES 

Thanks for joining me for this Masterpiece Moment on Art Happens: The Devine Mess of Art History, presented by J-Squared Atelier

Next time on Art Happens, we’ll uncover another deliciously messy story from art history — where beauty and chaos share the same canvas.

Until then, remember:

Every masterpiece has a little bit of mess behind it.