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Knights of Art -
Leonardo da Vinci
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Gallery of Art: On
the sunny slopes of Monte Albano, between Florence and Pisa, the little
town of Vinci lay high among the rocks that crowned the steep hillside.
It was but a little town. Only a few houses crowded together round an
old castle in the midst, and it looked from a distance like a swallow's
nest clinging to the bare steep rocks. Here
in the year 1452 Leonardo, son of Ser Piero da Vinci, was born. It was
in the age when people told fortunes by the stars, and when a baby was
born they would eagerly look up and decide whether it was a lucky or
unlucky star which shone upon the child. Surely if it had been possible
in this way to tell what fortune awaited the little Leonardo, a strange
new star must have shone that night, brighter than the others and unlike
the rest in the dazzling light of its strength and beauty. Portrait of Ginevra Benci by
Leonardo Leonardo
was always a strange child. Even his beauty was not like that of other
children. He had the most wonderful waving hair, falling in regular
ripples, like the waters of a fountain, the colour of bright gold, and
soft as spun silk. His eyes were blue and clear, with a mysterious light
in them, not the warm light of a sunny sky, but rather the blue that
glints in the iceberg. They were merry eyes too, when he laughed, but
underneath was always that strange cold look. There was a charm about
his smile which no one could resist, and he was a favourite with all.
Yet people shook their heads sometimes as they looked at him, and they
talked in whispers of the old witch who had lent her goat to nourish the
little Leonardo when he was a baby. The woman was a dealer in black
magic, and who knew but that the child might be a changeling? It
was the old grandmother, Mona Lena, who brought Leonardo up and spoilt
him not a little. His father, Ser Piero, was a lawyer, and spent most of
his time in Florence, but when he returned to the old castle of Vinci,
he began to give Leonardo lessons and tried to find out what the boy was
fit for. But Leonardo hated those lessons and would not learn, so when
he was seven years old he was sent to school. This
did not answer any better. The rough play of the boys was not to his
liking. When he saw them drag the wings off butterflies, or torture any
animal that fell into their hands, his face grew white with pain, and he
would take no share in their games. The Latin grammar, too, was a
terrible task, while the many things he longed to know no one taught
him. So
it happened that many a time, instead of going to school, he would slip
away and escape up into the hills, as happy as a little wild goat. Here
was all the sweet fresh air of heaven, instead of the stuffy schoolroom.
Here were no cruel, clumsy boys, but all the wild creatures that he
loved. Here he could learn the real things his heart was hungry to know,
not merely words which meant nothing and led to nowhere. For
hours he would lie perfectly still with his heels in the air and his
chin resting in his hands, as he watched a spider weaving its web,
breathless with interest to see how the delicate threads were turned in
and out. The gaily painted butterflies, the fat buzzing bees, the little
sharp-tongued green lizards, he loved to watch them all, but above
everything he loved the birds. Oh, if only he too had wings to dart like
the swallows, and swoop and sail and dart again! What was the secret
power in their wings? Surely by watching he might learn it. Sometimes it
seemed as if his heart would burst with the longing to learn that
secret. It was always the hidden reason of things that he desired to
know. Much as he loved the flowers he must pull their petals of, one by
one, to see how each was joined, to wonder at the dusty pollen, and
touch the honey-covered stamens. Then when the sun began to sink he
would turn sadly homewards, very hungry, with torn clothes and tired
feet, but with a store of sunshine in his heart. His
grandmother shook her head when Leonardo appeared after one of his days
of wandering. The Madonna of the Carnation
by Leonardo `I
know thou shouldst be whipped for playing truant,' she said; `and I
should also punish thee for tearing thy clothes.' `Ah!
but thou wilt not whip me,' answered Leonardo, smiling at her with his
curious quiet smile, for he had full confidence in her love. `Well,
I love to see thee happy, and I will not punish thee this time,' said
his grandmother; `but if these tales reach thy father's ears, he will
not be so tender as I am towards thee.' And,
sure enough, the very next time that a complaint was made from the
school, his father happened to be at home, and then the storm burst. `Next
time I will flog thee,' said Ser Piero sternly, with rising anger at the
careless air of the boy. `Meanwhile we will see what a little
imprisonment will do towards making thee a better child.' Then
he took the boy by the shoulders and led him to a little dark cupboard
under the stairs, and there shut him up for three whole days. There
was no kicking or beating at the locked door. Leonardo sat quietly there
in the dark, thinking his own thoughts, and wondering why there seemed
so little justice in the world. But soon even that wonder passed away,
and as usual when he was alone he began to dream dreams of the time when
he should have learned the swallows' secrets and should have wings like
theirs. But
if there were complaints about Leonardo's dislike of the boys and the
Latin grammar, there would be none about the lessons he chose to learn.
Indeed, some of the masters began to dread the boy's eager questions,
which were sometimes more than they could answer. Scarcely had he begun
the study of arithmetic than he made such rapid progress, and wanted to
puzzle out so many problems, that the masters were amazed. His mind
seemed always eagerly asking for more light, and was never satisfied. Study of Old Man by Leonardo But
it was out on the hillside that he spent his happiest hours. He loved
every crawling, creeping, or flying thing, however ugly. Curious beasts
which might have frightened another child were to him charming and
interesting. There as he listened to the carolling of the birds and bent
his head to catch the murmured song of the mountain-streams, the love of
music began to steal into his heart. He
did not rest then until he managed to get a lute and learned how to play
upon it. And when he had mastered the notes and learned the rules of
music, he began to play airs which no one had ever heard before, and to
sing such strange sweet songs that the golden notes flowed out as fresh
and clear as the song of a lark in the early morning of spring. `The
child is a changeling,' said some, as they saw Leonardo tenderly lift a
crushed lizard in his hand, or watched him play with a spotted snake or
great hairy spider. `A
changeling perhaps,' said others, `but one that hath the voice of an
angel.' For every one stopped to listen when the boy's voice was heard
singing through the streets of the little town. He
was a puzzle to every one, and yet a delight to all, even when they
understood him least. So
time went on, and when Leonardo was thirteen his father took him away to
Florence that he might begin to be trained for some special work. But
what work? Ah! that was the rub. The boy could do so many things well
that it was difficult to fix on one. At
that time there was living in Florence an old
man who knew a great deal about the stars, and who made wonderful
calculations about them. He was a famous astronomer, but he cared not at
all for honour or fame, but lived a simple quiet life by himself and
would not mix with the gay world. Few
visitors ever came to see him, for it was known that he would receive no
one, and so it was a great surprise to old Toscanelli when one night a
gentle knock sounded at his door, and a boy walked quietly in and stood
before him. Madonna with Angels by
Leonardo Hastily
the old man looked up, and his first thought was to ask the child how he
dared enter without leave, and then ask him to be gone, but as he looked
at the fair face he felt the charm of the curious smile, and the light
in the blue eyes, and instead he laid his hand upon the boy's golden
head and said: `What dost thou seek, my son?' `I
would learn all that thou canst teach me,' said Leonardo, for it was he. The
old man smiled. `Behold
the boundless self-confidence of youth!' he said. But
as they talked together, and the boy asked his many eager questions, a
great wonder awoke in the astronomer's mind, and his eyes shone with
interest. This child-mind held depths of understanding such as he had
never met with among his learned friends. Day after day the old man and
the boy bent eagerly together over their problems, and when night fell
Toscanelli would take the child up with him to his lonely tower above
Florence, and teach him to know the stars and to understand many things. `This
is all very well,' said Ser Piero, `but the boy must do more than mere
star-gazing. He must earn a living for himself, and methinks we might
make a painter of him.' That
very day, therefore, he gathered together some of Leonardo's drawings
which lay carelessly scattered about, and took them to the studio of
Verocchio the painter, who lived close by the Ponte Vecchio. `Dost
thou think thou canst make aught of the boy?' he asked, spreading out
the drawings before Verocchio. The
painter's quick eyes examined the work with deep interest. `Send
him to me at once,' he said. `This is indeed marvellous talent.' So
Leonardo entered the studio as a pupil, and learned all that could be
taught him with the same quickness with which he learned anything that
he cared to know. Every
one who saw his work declared that he would be the wonder of the age,
but Verocchio shook his head. `He
is too wonderful,' he said. `He aims at too great perfection. He wants
to know everything and do everything, and life is too short for that. He
finishes nothing, because he is ever starting to do something else.' Verocchio's
words were true; the boy seldom worked long at one thing. His hands were
never idle, and often, instead of painting, he would carve out tiny
windmills and curious toys which worked with pulleys and ropes, or made exquisite little clay models of
horses and all the other animals that he loved. But he never forgot the
longing that had filled his heart when he was a child--the desire to
learn the secret of flying. For
days he would sit idle and think of nothing but soaring wings, then he
would rouse himself and begin to make some strange machine which he
thought might hold the secret that he sought.
`A
waste of time,' growled Verocchio. `See here, thou wouldst be better
employed if thou shouldst set to work and help me finish this picture of
the Baptism for the good monks of Vallambrosa. Let me see how thou canst
paint in the kneeling figure of the angel at the side.' For
a while the boy stood motionless before the picture as if he was looking
at something far away. Then he seized the brushes with his left hand and
began to paint with quick certain sweep. He never stopped to think, but
worked as if the angel were already there, and he were but brushing away
the veil that hid it from the light. Then,
when it was done, the master came and looked silently on. For a moment a
quick stab of jealousy ran through his heart. Year after year had he
worked and striven to reach his ideal. Long days of toil and weary
nights had he spent, winning each step upwards by sheer hard work. And
here was this boy without an effort able to rise far above him. All the
knowledge which the master had groped after, had been grasped at once by
the wonderful mind of the pupil. But the envious feeling passed quickly away, and Verocchio laid his hand upon
Leonardo's shoulder.
Baptism of Christ Angel by
Leonardo `I
have found my master,' he said quietly, `and I will paint no more.' Leonardo
scarcely seemed to hear; he was thinking of something else now, and he
seldom noticed if people praised or blamed him. His thoughts had fixed
themselves upon something he had seen that morning which had troubled
him. On the way to the studio he had passed a tiny shop in a narrow
street where a seller of birds was busy hanging his cages up on the
nails fastened to the outside wall. The
thought of those poor little prisoners beating their wings against the
cruel bars and breaking their hearts with longing for their wild free
life, had haunted him all day, and now he could bear it no longer. He
seized his cap and hurried off, all forgetful of his kneeling angel and
the master's praise. He
reached the little shop and called to the man within. `How
much wilt thou take for thy birds?' he cried, and pointed to the little
wooden cages that hung against the wall. `Plague
on them,' answered the man, `they will often die before I can make a
sale by them. Thou canst have them all for one silver piece.' In
a moment Leonardo had paid the money and had turned towards the row of
little cages. One by one he opened the doors and set the prisoners free,
and those that were too frightened or timid to fly away, he gently drew
out with his hand, and sent them
gaily whirling up above his head into the blue sky. The
man looked with blank astonishment at the empty cages, and wondered if
the handsome young man was mad. But Leonardo paid no heed to him, but
stood gazing up until every one of the birds had disappeared. `Happy
things,' he said, with a sigh. `Will you ever teach me the secret of
your wings, I wonder?' It
was with great pleasure that Ser Piero heard of his son's success at
Verocchio's studio, and he began to have hopes that the boy would make a
name for himself after all. It happened just then that he was on a visit
to his castle at Vinci, and one morning a peasant who lived on the
estate came to ask a great favour of him.
Study of a Woman by Leonardo
He
had bought a rough wooden shield which he was very anxious should have a
design painted on it in Florence, and he begged Ser Piero to see that it
was done. The peasant was a faithful servant, and very useful in
supplying the castle with fish and game, so Ser Piero was pleased to
grant him his request. `Leonardo
shall try his hand upon it. It is time he became useful to me,' said Ser
Piero to himself. So on his return to Florence he took the shield to his
son. It
was a rough, badly-shaped shield, so Leonardo held it to the fire and
began to straighten it. For though his hands looked delicate and
beautifully formed, they were as strong as steel, and he could bend bars
of iron without an effort. Then he sent
the shield to a turner to be smoothed and rounded, and when it
was ready he sat down to think what he should paint upon it, for he
loved to draw strange monsters. `I
will make it as terrifying as the head of Medusa,' he said at last,
highly delighted with the plan that had come into his head. Then
he went out and collected together all the strangest animals he could
find--lizards, hedgehogs, newts, snakes, dragon-flies, locusts, bats,
and glow- worms. These he took into his own room, which no one was
allowed to enter, and began to paint from them a curious monster, partly
a lizard and partly a bat, with something of each of the other animals
added to it. When
it was ready Leonardo hung the shield in a good light against a dark
curtain, so that the painted monster stood out in brilliant contrast,
and looked as if its twisted curling limbs were full of life. A
knock sounded at the door, and Ser Piero's voice was heard outside
asking if the shield was finished. `Come
in,' cried Leonardo, and Ser Piero entered. He
cast one look at the monster hanging there and then uttered a cry and
turned to flee, but Leonardo caught hold of his cloak and laughingly
told him to look closer. `If
I have really succeeded in frightening thee,' he said, `I have indeed
done all I could desire.' His
father could scarcely believe that it was nothing but a painting, and he
was so proud of the work that he would not part with it, but gave the
peasant of Vinci another shield instead. Leonardo
then began a drawing for a curtain which was to be woven in silk and
gold and given as a present from the Florentines to the King of
Portugal, and he also began a large picture of the Adoration of the
Shepherds which was never finished. The
young painter grew restless after a while, and felt the life of the
studio narrow and cramped. He longed to leave Florence and find work in
some new place.
He
was not a favourite at the court of Lorenzo the Magnificent as Filippino
Lippi and Botticelli were. Lorenzo liked those who would flatter him and
do as they were bid, while Leonardo took his own way in everything and
never said what he did not mean. But
it happened that just then Lorenzo wished to send a present to Ludovico
Sforza, the Duke of Milan, and the gift he chose was a marvellous
musical instrument which Leonardo had just finished. It
was a silver lute, made in the form of a horse's head, the most curious
and beautiful thing ever seen. Lorenzo was charmed with it. Portrait of Cecilia Gallarani
by Leonardo `Thou
shalt take it thyself, as my messenger,' he said to Leonardo. `I doubt
if another can be found who can play upon it as thou dost.' So
Leonardo set out for Milan, and was glad to shake himself free from the
narrow life of the Florentine studio. Before
starting, however, he had written a letter to the Duke setting down in
simple order all the things he could do, and telling of what use he
could be in times of war and in days of peace. There
seemed nothing that he could not do. He could make bridges, blow up
castles, dig canals, invent a new kind of cannon, build warships, and
make underground passages. In days of peace he could design and build
houses, make beautiful statues and paint pictures `as well as any man,
be he who he may.' The
letter was written in curious writing from right to left like Hebrew or
Arabic. This was how Leonardo always wrote, using his left hand, so that
it could only be read by holding the writing up to a mirror. The
Duke was half amazed and half amused when the letter reached him. `Either
these are the words of a fool, or of a man of genius,' said the Duke.
And when he had once seen and spoken to Leonardo he saw at once which of
the two he deserved to be called. Every
one at the court was charmed with the artist's beautiful face and
graceful manners. His music alone, as he swept the strings of the silver
lute and sang to it his own songs, would have brought him fame, but the
Duke quickly saw that this was no mere minstrel. It
was soon arranged therefore that Leonardo should take up his abode at
the court of Milan and receive a yearly pension from the Duke. Sometimes
the pension was paid, and sometimes it was forgotten, but Leonardo never
troubled about money matters. Somehow or other he must have all that he
wanted, and everything must be fair and dainty. His clothes were always
rich and costly, but never bright-coloured or gaudy. There was no plume
or jewelled brooch in his black velvet beretto or cap, and the only
touch of colour was his golden hair, and the mantle of dark red cloth
which he wore in the fashion of the Florentines, thrown across his
shoulder. Above all, he must always have horses in his stables, for he
loved them more than human beings. Many
were the plans and projects which the Duke entrusted to Leonardo's care,
but of all that he did, two great works stand out as greater than all
the rest. One was the painting of the Last Supper on the walls of the
refectory of Santa Maria delle Grazie, and the other the making of a
model of a great equestrian statue, a bronze horse with the figure of
the Duke upon its back. `Year
after year Leonardo worked at that wonderful fresco of the Last Supper.
Sometimes for weeks or months he never touched it, but he always
returned to it again. Then for days he would work from morning till
night, scarcely taking time to eat, and able to think of nothing else,
until suddenly he would put down his brushes and stand silently for a
long, long time before the picture. It seemed as if he was wasting the
precious hours doing nothing, but in truth he worked more diligently
with his brain when his hands were idle. The Last Supper by Leonardo Often
too when he worked at the model for the great bronze horse, he would suddenly stop, and walk quickly
through the streets until he came to the refectory, and there, catching
up his brushes, he would paint in one or perhaps two strokes, and then
return to his modelling. Besides
all this Leonardo was busy with other plans for the Duke's amusement,
and no court fete was counted successful without his help. Nothing
seemed too difficult for him to contrive, and what he did was always new
and strange and wonderful. Once
when the King of France came as a guest to Milan, Leonardo prepared a
curious model of a lion, which by some inside machinery was able to walk
forward several steps to meet the King, and then open wide its huge jaws
and display inside a bed of sweet-scented lilies, the emblem of France,
to do honour to her King. But while working at other things Leonardo
never forgot his longing to learn the secret art of flying. Every now
and then a new idea would come into his head, and he would lay aside all
other work until he had made the new machine which might perhaps act as
the wings of a bird. Each fresh disappointment only made him more keen
to try again. `I
know we shall some day have wings,' he said to his pupils, who sometimes
wondered at the strange work of the master's hands. `It is only a
question of knowing how to make them. I remember once when I was a baby
lying in my cradle, I fancied a bird flew to me, opened my lips and
rubbed its feathers over them. So it seems to be my fate all my life to
talk of wings.' Very
slowly the great fresco of the Last Supper grew under the master's hand
until it was nearly finished. The statue, too, was almost completed, and
then evil days fell upon Milan. The Duke was obliged to flee before the
French soldiers, who forced their way into the town and took possession
of it. Before any one could prevent it, the soldiers began to shoot
their arrows at the great statue, which they used as a target, and in a
few hours the work of sixteen years was utterly destroyed. It is sadder
still to tell the fate of Leonardo's fresco, the greatest picture
perhaps that ever was painted. Dampness lurked in the wall and began to
dim and blur the colours. The careless monks cut a door through the very
centre of the picture, and, later on, when Napoleon's soldiers entered
Milan, they used the refectory as a stable, and amused themselves by
throwing stones at what remained of it. But though little of it is left
now to be seen, there is still enough to make us stand in awe and
reverence before the genius of the great master. Not
far from Milan there lived a friend of Leonardo's, whom the master loved
to visit. This Girolamo Melzi had a son called Francesco, a little
motherless boy, who adored the great painter with all his heart. Together
Leonardo and the child used to wander out to search for curious animals
and rare flowers, and as they watched the spiders weave their webs and
pulled the flowers to pieces to find out their secrets, the boy listened
with wide wondering eyes to all the tales which the painter told him.
And at night Leonardo
wrapped the little one close inside his warm cloak and carried him out
to see the stars--those same stars which old Toscanelli had taught him
to love long ago in Florence. Then when the day of parting came the
child clung round the master's neck and would not let him go. `Take
me with thee,' he cried, `do not leave me behind all alone.' `I
cannot take thee now, little one,' said Leonardo gently. `Thou art still
too small, but later on thou shalt come to me and be my pupil. This I
promise thee.' It
was but a weary wandering life that awaited Leonardo after he was forced
to leave his home in Milan. It seemed as if it was his fate to begin
many things but to finish nothing. For a while he lived in Rome, but he
did little real work there. For
several years he lived in Florence and began to paint a huge
battle-picture. There too he painted the famous portrait of Mona Lisa,
which is now in Paris. Of all portraits that have ever been painted this
is counted the most wonderful and perfect piece of work, although
Leonardo himself called it unfinished. La Gioconda by Leonardo By
this time the master had fallen on evil days. All his pupils were gone,
and his friends seemed to have forgotten him. He was sitting before the
fire one stormy night, lonely and sad, when the door opened and a tall
handsome lad came in. `Master!'
he cried, and kneeling down he kissed the old man's hands. `Dost thou
not know me? I am thy little Francesco, come to claim thy promise that I
should one day be thy servant and pupil. Leonardo
laid his hand upon the boy's fair head and looked into his face. `I
am growing old,' he said, `and I can no longer do for thee what I might
once have done. I am but a poor wanderer now. Dost thou indeed wish to
cast in thy lot with mine?' `I
care only to be near thee,' said the boy. `I will go with thee to the
ends of the earth.' So
when, soon after, Leonardo received an invitation from the new King of
France, he took the boy with him, and together they made their home in
the little chateau of Claux near the town of Amboise. The
master's hair was silvered now, and his long beard was as white as snow.
His keen blue eyes looked weary and tired of life, and care had drawn
many deep lines on his beautiful face. Sad thoughts were always his
company. The one word `failure' seemed to be written across his life.
What had he done? He had begun many things and had finished but few. His
great fresco was even now fading away and becoming dim and blurred. His
model for the marvellous horse was destroyed. A few pictures remained,
but these had never quite reached his ideal. The crowd who had once
hailed him as the greatest of all artists, could now only talk of
Michelangelo and the young Raphael. Michelangelo himself had once
scornfully told him he was a failure and could finish nothing. He
was glad to leave Italy and all its memories behind, and he hoped to begin work again in his quiet little
French home. But Death was drawing near, and before many years had
passed he grew too weak to hold a brush or pencil. It
was in the springtime of the year that the end came. Francesco had
opened the window and gently lifted the master in his strong young arms,
that he might look once more on the outside world which he loved so
dearly. The trees were putting on their dainty dress of tender green,
white clouds swept across the blue sky, and April sunshine flooded the
room. Self-portrait by Leonardo As
he looked out, the master's tired eyes woke into life. `Look!'
he cried, `the swallows have come back! Oh that they would lend me their
wings that I might fly away and be at rest!'
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Stories of the Italian Painters
by Amy Steedman
