France's secret weapon

Nick Rossiter on how the 'Mona Lisa' was used on a sensitive diplomatic mission

Reports of patriotic American restaurants taking French fries and French toast off the menu and pouring French wine down the sink demonstrate just how hard it's going to be to reconstruct FrancoAmerican relations after the war. But perhaps there's something to be learned from the last great fall-out between France and America at the height of the Cold War. On that occasion the French deployed their ultimate secret weapon: the 'Mona Lisa'.

The story of how and why Leonardo da Vinci's masterpiece was deployed on a sensitive diplomatic mission begins in May 1962, with the world on the brink of nuclear war. In response to the American deployment of nuclear rockets in Turkey, Russian ships, carrying their own nuclear weapons, steamed across the Atlantic towards Cuba. Such an overt threat in their own backyard was intolerable to the Americans and in a supreme game of poker, involving bluff and counter-bluff, Kennedy's ultimatum to Russia was simple: back off. This was America's hour of need and what they needed above all else was a show of Western unity against the communist menace.

Europe fell into line - with the exception of France. President de Gaulle insisted France should develop its own independent nuclear arsenal, the so-called `force de frappe'. He resented the fact that Nato was effectively stitched up by the `special relationship' between the US and Britain. America was incandescent with anger. They expected support from the French as a quid pro quo for bailing them out in their former colonies such as Indo-China. Since the defeat of the French in Dien Bien Phu in 1954, the Americans had not only sent large numbers of military advisers to the region, it was also effectively bankrolling, on behalf of the French, the South Vietnamese economy.

The ingenious idea of how to demonstrate Franco-American solidarity, without either side backing down, came from Andre Malraux, the poet philosopher, who was also the French minister of culture. Malraux had played host to John and Jackie Kennedy in Paris and knew the First Lady had a weakness for all things French. He also realised that the Kennedy administration wanted to exploit Jackie's image of cultural sophistication. In the early Sixties, America still suffered from a cultural inferiority complex and Old World style was important in the development of the Camelot court myth. After securing approval from de Gaulle, Malraux arranged a personal loan of the 'Mona Lisa' to John and Jackie for a tour of the US. The 'Mona Lisa', the ultimate French national icon, was to become a roving, international ambassador.

In November 1962, the 'Mona Lisa' was packed in a floatable container and booked into a first-class cabin on the super-liner, SS France, with round-theclock security. Kennedy had appointed John Walker, then head of the National Gallery in Washington, to take care of arrangements at the American end. He noted: 'The French demanded more honours than are normally accorded to a visiting head of state.' They insisted on the American Navy escorting the SS France into New York Harbor with a guard of honour from the FBI, the Navy and National Guard.

The unveiling of the 'Mona Lisa' was designed to coincide with the opening session of the 88th Congress. This ensured the attendance of the entire House of Representatives, the Senate, the Kennedy administration and the Supreme Court. As one Washington newspaper remarked, 'Seldom in the history of the United States of America has the ruling class been present in such overwhelming numbers.' After the Marines saluted the picture with the president's hymn, 'Hail To The Chief', the tuxedoed JFK arrived with Jackie on his arm wearing a dazzling, off-the-shoulder, rhinestone dress, specially designed for the occasion by Oleg Cassini. Kennedy's press secretary, Pierre Salinger, ensured the world's media were there to record a defining moment for the Camelot court: Jackie and Mona Lisa, the two great icons of the Western world, coming face to face. It was hard to miss the uncanny parallels: both elegantly restrained, untouchable yet knowing and palpably real. Both simmered with mystery, evoking a potent cocktail of beauty and saintliness, the suffering of motherhood and the resignation of saintliness.

Kennedy's speech to Congress honoured the 'Mona Lisa' as the ultimate symbol of the free and civilised world: 'We citizens of nations unborn at the time of its creation are among the inheritors and protectors of the ideals which gave it birth. For this painting is not only one of the towering achievements of the skill and the vision of art, but its creator embodied in it the central purpose of our civilisation.' Kennedy used the 'Mona Lisa' to rise above issues of difference and to stress the profound historical and political ties between the two countries: 'Each has been delivered from the foreign rule of another by the other's friendship and courage.' He went on to say how they'd fought on the same side in four wars and how their respective revolutions had helped define the very notions of democracy and liberty. Kennedy's oratory transformed the 'Mona Lisa' into a Cold War icon that symbolised Western genius in contrast to the repressive mentality of the communist bloc. His speech concluded: 'Politics and art, the life of action and the life of thought, the world of events and the world of imagination, are one.'

In the following eight weeks, 2 million Americans came to see the 'Mona Lisa', first in Washington and then in New York. It was the first-ever international, blockbuster exhibition. Visitors stood four or five abreast and were given between five and ten seconds before being ushered on. For many, the chance to see the 'Mona Lisa' was like witnessing a saintly relic on a religious pilgrimage. 'These busloads of tourists were obviously worshippers, but they were worshipping in a new way, with guidebooks and cameras,' wrote the National Gallery's director, John Walker. He went on: 'Wasn't the "Mona Lisa" also, I wondered, an icon of this novel religion, cultural sightseeing. In communist countries, apart from devotion to the state, it is the only faith encouraged. In the free world, judging by tourism and attendance at art exhibitions, conversions have been spectacular.'

Returning to the present, the 'Mona Lisa' is sadly not going to assist in the restoration of Franco-American relations. Owing to the risks of international travel, the French have announced that the 'Mona Lisa' will no longer be allowed abroad. If George Bush really wants to insult the French, he should consider a highly symbolic gesture, such as returning the Statue of Liberty. As a gift from the people of France, embodying shared ideals of equality, liberty and fraternity, can it really remain the national emblem of Bush's America? On the other hand, Jacques Chirac could salvage the situation by arranging a permanent loan of the entire contents of The Louvre.

Nick Rossiter is the producer/director of Leonardo: The Secret Life of the Mona Lisa to be shown on Sunday, 4 May at 7 p.m. on BBC1.

Copyright Spectator May 3, 2003
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