Crimes of Paris_ A True Story of Murder, Theft, and Detection - Dorothy Hoobler [128]
Perugia was handcuffed when he entered the courtroom at 9:00 A.M., but he smiled graciously at the photographers. Cavaliere Barilli, president of the court and head of the three-judge panel, called the proceedings to order. He asked a few questions of Perugia to establish his parentage, the town where he was born, and his occupation. Again, asked if he was a housepainter by trade, Perugia insisted that he was a pittore, an artist. The judge asked if he had ever been arrested before, and Perugia’s memory failed him. The judge reminded him of the two occasions when he had been arrested in France, once for theft.
With that completed, the court allowed one of Perugia’s lawyers to make a motion to dismiss the case because the crime did not occur in Italy and there had been no formal complaint by the French government. Barilli reserved judgment on that matter and resumed his questioning of Perugia. Like everyone else, the judge was curious to learn how this apparently humble man could have carried out the audacious crime. Could Perugia describe what happened on August 21, 1911, when he stole the Mona Lisa?
Somewhat eagerly, Perugia asked if he could also tell why he had committed the crime, but the judge told him that he must do that later. For now, he wanted a description of the act itself.
Perugia offered an abbreviated version: He had entered the Louvre through the front door early that Monday, wandered through various rooms, took the Mona Lisa from its place on the wall, and left the same way. The judge pointed out that during the pretrial interrogations, Perugia had admitted trying to force the door at the bottom of the little stairwell that led to the Cour du Sphinx. Perugia had no answer for this, and the judge did not press him for one.
It is difficult to understand why Perugia changed his story or even why he did not tell the full truth about how he entered and left the museum, given the fact that he freely confessed to the crime itself. Perhaps he was afraid of implicating others, such as the Lancelotti brothers, or even people who might have helped him in other ways, both before and after the theft. The alibi that he had concocted for himself — that he was a patriot reclaiming one of Italy’s treasures — sounded better if he had been the sole actor in the drama.
Now, Perugia was asked why he had stolen the Mona Lisa. He responded that all the Italian paintings in the Louvre were stolen works, taken from their rightful home, Italy. When asked how he knew this, he said that when he worked at the Louvre, he had found documents that proved it. He remembered in particular a book with prints that showed “a cart, pulled by two oxen; it was loaded with paintings, statues, other works of art. Things that were leaving Italy and going to France.” 22
Was that when he decided to steal the Mona Lisa? Not exactly, Perugia replied. First he considered the paintings of Raphael, Correggio, Giorgione… all great masters. “But I decided on the Mona Lisa, which was the smallest painting and the easiest to transport.”
“So there was no chance,” asked the court, “that you decided on it because it was the most valuable painting?”
“No, sir, I never acted with that in mind. I only desired that this masterpiece would be put in its place of honor here in Florence.” 23
Allowed to continue recounting his experiences in Paris, Perugia described how the French workers looked down on him. They hid his tools. They mocked him. They put salt and pepper into the wine he drank with his lunch. Finally, they called him “macaroni” and “dirty Italian.” The reporters wrote the slurs down, their pencils moving furiously. When that part of Perugia’s testimony appeared in print, his popularity at home was secure.
Perhaps thinking that it would be wise not to allow Perugia to turn the proceedings into his personal forum,