The Lady in the Louvre

She was more beautiful than I could have imagined. And stranger. And kinder.

By Rachel Motte

I saw the Mona Lisa. Her smile will outlive me, God willing, and her face will never change—but thanks to her, I will never be quite the same.

I saw her in person, the guards allowing me to creep as close as anyone can. I blush to admit I wasn’t expecting much. Who doesn’t know her famous face from countless reproductions in books and on websites? Still, I told myself, I couldn’t very well stay in Paris without going to look at her.

I gasped when I entered her chamber, transfixed: “Forgive me, Lady,” I wanted to tell her. “I didn’t know.”