Leonardo's Lost Princess (3 page)

After having directed my attention to the linear development of the portrait, I took note of the execution of the fine hair at the top of the girl’s head, which is the best preserved area of her elaborate tresses. Of the same high level of execution is the subtle colouring in the un-retouched areas of the cheek, where the tonal gradations are almost imperceptible. This inimitable delicacy made me think of this same famous characteristic found in the face of the
Mona Lisa
.

Mina remained bent over the portrait for a very long time. Finally, she called me to her side. “Yes,” she said. “It is Leonardo. Allow me to be the first to say so formally.” I handed her a black-and-white photo, and she wrote the attribution on the back. I still have it.

She concluded in her article that “what most readily evokes this portrait is the utter simplicity of its structure, and yet at the same time the young woman’s imperious air. But the whole work is also enriched by the artist’s unshakeable intention to be governed solely by natural appearances, an ambitious motivation that can only be realized by a great master. And that master is Leonardo.”

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Leonardo's World

We, by our arts, may be called the grandsons of God.

—Leonardo da Vinci

Five hundred years after his death, Leonardo da Vinci continues to intrigue us. He is the most famous and revered artist of all time. Leonardo was a prolific artist, yet he left fewer than twenty paintings—the most famous being
The Last Supper
and
Mona Lisa.
He was the ultimate Renaissance man: an artist, a scientist, a designer, and an inventor whose imagination and scientific prowess were centuries ahead of his time. Artists, designers, and engineers still study the meticulous drawings in Leonardo's notebooks for their innovative technique and anatomical precision.

As I contemplated the possibility that I was holding in my hands the product of Leonardo's work, my thoughts were consumed with images of the artist's remarkable journey. Thanks to the Renaissance biographer Giorgio Vasari, we have some insight into Leonardo's life. From a very young age, he was something special.

Physically, Leonardo was a beautiful child, tall and sturdy, with curling hair that made him seem angelic. He had been born out of wedlock to his father Ser Piero's mistress, Caterina, who soon left the picture. However, being a motherless child did not seem to hold Leonardo back. This was largely because of the great love and admiration of Ser Piero, and also because of Leonardo's unearthly genius. He was gifted in a way that produced both pride and worry in his father, who wondered what would become of him.

This dreamy, brilliant, sunny boy could not seem to settle down to any single pursuit. He picked up an interest—mathematics, the flute, clay modeling—only to put it down and start on another. The detritus of partly completed projects was scattered around the property. Beneath the whimsy of Leonardo's varied exploits, Ser Piero could see that his son's talent for drawing and modeling was quite exceptional, especially given his age of fourteen. But he needed a guiding hand, and although his father, a notary, could provide him with a stable home, he could not help him on that journey.

One day, while gazing at the lovely artistry of a series of Leonardo's drawings, Ser Piero decided to seek the opinion of his close friend Andrea del Verrocchio, an artist and a sculptor who oversaw the best workshop in Florence. Membership in it was greatly coveted. Handing Andrea Leonardo's drawings, Ser Piero asked him, “Do you think if he gave himself entirely to drawing he would succeed?”

Andrea studied the drawings with a growing sense of astonishment. A mere child of fourteen had mastered form and face with a maturity and skill that Andrea had never seen. Who was this boy? On the question of his future, Andrea had no doubt. He agreed to make a place for Leonardo in his workshop.

Leonardo's father was ebullient and relieved. He felt sure his boy's talent would be safely nurtured under Andrea's tutelage. Leonardo was also quite eager to go. He was glad to be immersed in art and design at every level.

Leonardo thrived in Andrea's workshop, and he would ultimately spend ten years in its comfortable creative embrace. He was not in a hurry to strike out on his own, and his father did not pressure him. In spite of his son's clear genius, Ser Piero believed that his distracted manner and instability made him a poor candidate for independent work.

There were plenty of opportunities to be had in the workshop, however. The first significant one was a painting of the baptism of Christ by St. John. Andrea gave Leonardo the task of painting one of two angels holding Christ's robe. Although Leonardo was quite young, he managed it so well that his angel was better than Andrea's figures. When Andrea saw Leonardo's angel, he could not contain his feelings of anger. How could this mere apprentice outshine him? It was reported that he petulantly vowed to never touch a brush again after being outshone by his pupil. (
The Baptism of
Christ
is currently in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. Leonardo's angel is the one on the left.)

Leonardo was something of a loner among his peers. He would later write:

The painter or draughtsman must remain solitary, and particularly when intent on those studies and reflections which will constantly rise up before his eye, giving materials to be well stored in the memory. While you are alone you are entirely your own [master] and if you have one companion you are but half your own, and the less so in proportion to the indiscretion of his behavior. And if you have many companions you will fall deeper into the same trouble. If you should say: “I will go my own way and withdraw apart, the better to study the forms of natural objects,” I tell you, you will not be able to help often listening to their chatter. And so, since one cannot serve two masters, you will badly fill the part of a companion, and carry out your studies of art even worse. And if you say: “I will withdraw so far that their words cannot reach me and they cannot disturb me,” I can tell you that you will be thought mad. But, you see, you will at any rate be alone. And if you must have companionship, find it in your studio. This may assist you to have the advantages, which arise from various speculations. All other company may be highly mischievous.
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According to Vasari, while Leonardo was at work one day, his father brought him a round piece of wood. He had been asked by a friend in the country to have something painted on it, perhaps to be used as a shield, and Ser Piero thought Leonardo might take on the task. Leonardo, finding the wood crooked and rough, straightened it by means of fire and then smoothed its rough surface. Having prepared it for painting this way, he began to think what he could paint on it.

He wanted to create the most dramatic and frightening image, so he considered the effect of a Medusa-like head. For models for the image, he brought into his private room lizards, grasshoppers, serpents, butterflies, locusts, bats, and other strange animals, and from them he produced a great animal image so horrible and fearful that it seemed to poison the air with its fiery breath. He portrayed it coming out of some dark broken rocks, with venom issuing from its open jaws, fire from its eyes, and smoke from its nostrils—a monstrous and horrible thing, indeed. He was so engrossed in his work that he didn't even notice the terrible smell emanating from the rotting carcasses of his animal models.

Finally he was finished, and he sent word to his father that he could come and get it. Ser Piero arrived early one morning at Leonardo's room; when he knocked, Leonardo told him to wait a moment, and he staged the scene—placing the picture in the light and darkening the window around it to create an ominous effect. Ser Piero stepped into the room, saw the image, and turned to run, not realizing that the terrible creature was painted and not real. Leonardo called after his father and brought him back, saying, “That was exactly the effect I was trying to create.”
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He was quite pleased with himself that the painting was realistic enough to scare his father.

The thing seemed marvelous to Ser Piero, and he praised Leonardo's whimsical idea, but he didn't want to give it to his friend, so he secretly bought another circular piece of wood, already painted with a heart pierced with a dart, and gave it to the friend in the country, who remained grateful to him as long as he lived. Ser Piero sold Leonardo's work to some merchants in Florence for a hundred ducats, and it soon came into the hands of the Duke of Milan, who bought it from the merchants for three hundred ducats—both considerable sums at that time.

Even when Leonardo was a young man, his genius was well understood—and it didn't hurt that he was also quite charming and agreeable. Many fell under his spell, only to learn that his work ethic was as ethereal as the wind. It was said that he was a procrastinator, but it was probably more true that he was a perfectionist and a generalist, easily distracted by his many different interests. For the young Leonardo, daydreams were not wasteful drifts, they were exercises for the imagination and interior building blocks for his work. One of his patrons once grumbled that he spent more time thinking than doing, and when he finally got going, the road to completion was a virtual obstacle course.

Leonardo soon gained a reputation for leaving work unfinished. (As Vasari lamented in a rare criticism, “In erudition and letters he would have distinguished himself, if he had not been variable and unstable. For he set himself to learn many things, and when he had begun them gave them up.”
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A lesser talent would have been ruined by the flightiness, but to this day Leonardo's unfinished works are counted as some of his greatest.

One of these,
Adoration of the Magi
, was a commission in 1481 by the Augustinian monks of San Donato a Scopeto in Florence, which he received thanks to his father's influence.
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The job was to create a large altarpiece, measuring 9 by 8 feet, depicting the adoration of baby Jesus by the three magi. Leonardo was given thirty months to complete the complex task, and he spent nearly a year sketching out the plans. Even in the sketches it was plain to see that Leonardo's vision was very different from that of others who had portrayed the scene. His view was more humanistic, emotional, and egalitarian, with many figures whose expressions were vivid and dramatic. Instead of narrowing his focus to the magi or the Holy Family, he explored all of the action going on around them.

While Leonardo was working on
Adoration of the Magi
, he was sidetracked by a request from Lorenzo de' Medici, the ruler of Florence, that he go on a diplomatic mission to the court of the Duke of Milan, Ludovico il Moro Sforza. It seems that Leonardo had learned to play the lyre as a child, and in early adulthood he had created a marvelous silver lyre, shaped like a horse's head, that had a beautiful resonance when played. When de' Medici saw the lyre, probably through Leonardo's father, whom he knew, he decided that it would make the perfect gift for the duke—especially if Leonardo would play it for him.

So Leonardo left for Milan, and his performance so far surpassed the performances of the Milanese court musicians that the duke was charmed and intrigued. His eye turned with great interest on the fascinating young man with so many talents in plain evidence. Leonardo obviously felt similarly intrigued, for shortly after this event he sent Ludovico il Moro Sforza the following letter—arguably the most famous job application in history:

Most Illustrious Lord: Having now sufficiently seen and considered the proofs of all those who count themselves masters and inventors in the instruments of war, and finding that their invention and use does not differ in any respect from those in common practice, I am emboldened . . . to put myself in communication with your Excellency, in order to acquaint you with my secrets. I can construct bridges which are very light and strong and very portable with which to pursue and defeat an enemy. . . . I can also make a kind of cannon, which is light and easy of transport, with which to hurl small stones like hail. . . . I can noiselessly construct to any prescribed point subterranean passages—either straight or winding—passing if necessary under trenches or a river. . . . I can make armored wagons carrying artillery, which can break through the most serried ranks of the enemy. In time of peace, I believe I can give you as complete satisfaction as anyone else in the construction of buildings, both public and private, and in conducting water from one place to another. I can execute sculpture in bronze, marble, or clay. Also, in painting, I can do as much as anyone, whoever he may be. If any of the aforesaid things should seem impossible or impractical to anyone, I offer myself as ready to make a trial of them in your park or in whatever place shall please your Excellency, to whom I commend myself with all possible humility.
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How to explain Leonardo's interest in being on hire to the court? A man of his extreme talent could have had as many independent commissions as he chose. Perhaps he was aware of his own failings, his tendency to lose heart in the midst of a job, his need for structure and discipline. Perhaps, too, he required the regular reinforcement and support of his superiors, for he struggled with self-esteem and often questioned his own abilities. On a practical level, he was constantly worrying about money, and the Court of Milan probably seemed like a guarantee of job security.

His letter was obviously an effective résumé, for the duke brought Leonardo to his court, where he remained for seventeen years. He was a young man of thirty when he accepted the position of painter and engineer of the duke.

It was a wonderful era in Milan, a golden age of art and science. The duke, a benevolent dictator with a love of the arts and a fascination with urban modernization, was happy to attract the great master painters, poets, and engineers to his city.

Sforza's court, at the massive Castello Sforzesco, was renowned for its spectacular pageants and festivities celebrating marriages and births; court poets recorded flowery verses, and Leonardo himself was involved in executing elaborate stage designs for theatrical productions at the court. Pomp, circumstance, and glitter reigned at the court, evidenced by the elaborate gold embroidery on the gowns of the highest court ladies. One cannot emphasize enough the beauty and splendor of the court during Ludovico's reign. The company that gathered in the Castello of Milan seemed, according to the chronicles of the writer Baldassare Castiglione, “the flower of the human race.”
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