Max is in love with the daughter of a lady who is not very approving of his suit. He ascertains that she wishes to have her portrait painted, and he undertakes to execute a fine picture of her. The lady immediately accepts the offer. Max has overlooked the fact that he has not the slightest notion of drawing or painting. He makes a brave effort to fulfill his part, and the portrait he turns out is as absurd a caricature as could be imagined. It arouses the sitter's ire, and its perpetrator is shown the front door. Max rouses from his despair. A happy inspiration flieth through his brain. Quickly he sets to work to develop it, and, under an assumed name, he writes to the lady that he has been struck by her resemblance to Mona Lisa, the subject of the stolen picture from the Louvre. He wishes to make a copy of the missing masterpiece, and begs for the favour of a sitting. The bait is swallowed, and Max, disguised by a short brown beard, hurries off the next day with a large canvas under his arm. The surface is of a pristine whiteness, but, once his sitter is settled, he tears off a paper covering unseen, and reveals a ready-made copy of the Mona Lisa picture. A few awkward touches are added, and then Max, asked by his pleased sitter to state his price for the portrait, begs for the hand of her daughter.
—The Bioscope