Da Vinci's Last Supper

Chapter 4

Cecilia seemed incapable of sitting still. An attack of acute agitation gripped her slender frame, causing her head to bob like an apple in a bucket and her hair to snag as her maidservant combed it. Her maid Maria, like the Virgin, was blessed with faith and patience. She had black curls hanging just above her shoulders and exquisite pale green eyes that a mercenary had once described as the colour of the Aegean Sea, though she herself had never been fortunate enough to see the sea.

It took some time for Maria to untangle the knots in the fine strands of Cecilia’s red hair. Eventually satisfied that she was suitable for presentation, Cecilia eyed herself in a mirror. Her shapely figure accentuated by her resplendent hair, held upright by a pretty pearled comb, momentarily transfixed Maria.

‘Do I look presentable?’ Cecilia asked.

‘Mistress, you were born to wear that dress, truly,’ replied Maria, snapping out of

her trance.

In the south of the city, Leonardo busied himself with tidying his personal studio, while his apprentices set about preparing the workshop in readiness for their esteemed visitor. Only ever catching rare glimpses of Cecilia from a distance on his various assignments around the castello, matters of appearance and how he would capture her on canvas were utmost on his mind.

News of Cecilia’s arrival was delivered to him in his private studio, one reserved for portrait painting by Francesco, who entered with a boyish grin; his admiring words tinged with wonderment.

‘She’s beautiful, maestro, more so than any woman I have ever seen.’

‘Of course, she’s beautiful,’ rebuked Leonardo. ‘If you were a Duke would you take pig to bed with you?’ Francesco said no more, distracted by the notion of taking such a woman to bed.

Forcing a smile, Leonardo entered his workshop and opened his mouth to speak, but upon surveying the sublime figure of perfection facing him, he for once was dumbstruck.

‘Is anything the matter?’ Cecilia quietly asked.

‘Leonardo da Vinci,’ he said falteringly. ‘At your service, my lady.’

‘I am Cecilia Gallerani.’ She curtseyed. ‘It is a great honour to meet you, maestro.’

Leonardo took her extended hand and let his fingers linger on hers. Transfixed by the moment, it took him a little too long before he realised the lady whose hand he held was not alone. She was accompanied by Maria, a stern-looking court official and two armed guards.

‘Are they also to be present when I am engaged in painting your portrait, my lady?’ The court official cleared his throat, but before he could speak Cecilia addressed Leonardo.

‘No maestro, they will wait here in your workshop while you paint me in your private studio.’

‘Excellent!’ Leonardo said with just a little too much gusto, enough for the court

official to register a degree of disapproval.

‘My lady,’ said the court official in response to Leonardo’s declaration. ‘I am charged with issuing the maestro with a warning. Il Moro will not hesitate…’

‘I am sure,’ Cecilia said, taking a light hold of Leonardo’s arm, ‘the maestro is mindful of his obligations to his Lord.’ Leonardo dutifully nodded his honest intent.

‘I am fully aware of my responsibilities. Rest assured, the lady Cecilia will be perfectly safe in my hands.’ He bowed to ease any lingering suspicion in the mind of the official.

‘This way, my lady.’

‘Cecilia, please call me Cecilia.’

Leonardo smiled as the last ‘Cecilia’ left her lips and the solemn oath he had just sworn was drowned out by the sound of her name cascading around his ears. He breathed deeply and escorted her out of his workshop.

The guards showed little interest in the proceedings, being much more interested in Leonardo’s construction of an armoured vehicle. Circular in dimension it was divided into twenty sections of metal that were stretched out like a fan, below each sheet protruded a metal pipe from out of which missiles would be fired. Although it was only a miniature incorporating puppets to operate its mechanical devices, the guards could clearly see its military purpose. But what use a commander would find for such a bizarre contraption they knew not.

Throughout the discourse between the court official, Cecilia and Leonardo, Maria had quivered with fear. She had fixed her gaze firmly upon said magician, while in her hands she clasped a small silver cross that she hoped would grant both her and her mistress protection.

Leonardo guided Cecilia inside his personal studio, reserved for painting portraits, the workshop being far too noisy with all manner of distractions. His personal studio was small consisting of a writing table with a bulky journal atop it, a wooden chair, a large south facing window, a bookshelf and various easels, some with canvases on them and some without. Propped up alongside the wall below the window were several drawings. Cecilia stood motionless, waiting, while Leonardo fiddled with some papers.

‘Now that we have been introduced, is there any particular idea that springs to mind as to how you wish to paint me?’ she enquired, keen to know what the maestro had in mind.

‘I always have ideas; the question is whether they are any good,’ he replied.

Cecilia idly picked up one of the many drawings strewn across the workbench. It depicted five grotesque men in a circle. Their hideous deformity provoked amusement from Cecilia, in particular, one whose lower face resembled that of a duck.

‘I promise not to make you look like any of these,’ he quipped. Cecilia giggled, embarrassed that of all the drawings on display she had selected this one.

‘Where would you like me to stand?’ she asked, toying with a strand of hair.

‘Over here by the window.’

Cecilia moved to where Leonardo had indicated but as she took her place she noticed a look of agitation on his face.

‘Is anything the matter?’

‘The light…’

‘Oh, I am sorry,’ Cecilia said.

‘It is hardly your fault Cecilia if the morning is overcast.’ The hairs on the back of Cecilia’s neck tingled as she absorbed the sound of her name spoken on his lips for the first time.

Leonardo picked up a magnifying glass and ran it over Cecilia’s neck, shoulders and

the tops of her breasts. ‘Your skin has a luminous quality,’ noted Leonardo.

‘Is that a good thing?’ she blushed.

‘It means the light will fall more evenly and make the flesh seem more alive. I take it

you want to look alive?’ She giggled in the flirtatious manner of all women when in the company of a man whom they are becoming more infatuated with each passing moment.

‘Good. We seem to have established an important principle. I am to paint you looking like these grotesque gargoyles,’ he said, taking hold of the caricatures she still held in her hand.

‘I see you are a man of some humour.’

‘If we are to be trapped in this room for long hours, the ability to amuse each other will make life easier.’

‘Oh, I am quite sure we will find ways to do that,’ replied Cecilia with a warm smile. Embarrassed, Leonardo turned away to gaze out of the window that dominated the south-facing wall.

Waiting patiently for instruction, Cecilia took the opportunity to study him closely. Leonardo stood erect with the pride of a man comfortable in his own inclinations and habits. Cecilia wondered what his vices were and whether the love of a woman was one of them. She watched the fingers of his right-hand curl around his beard, first the little finger, then the ring finger, followed by the big finger and the index finger as he slowly stroked his beard with a slow compulsive rhythm.

.‘I know you do not have a wife, but surely a man of your attractiveness has no shortage of lovers.’

‘There are some things I prefer to keep secret.’ Bruised by his rather curt response, Cecilia looked to the floor in the hope the maestro would not notice her blushes, which went unnoticed, for he was too busy admiring the contours of her body as she stood half in light and half in shadow due to a cloud passing overhead. Wishing to prolong their time further, he picked up some charcoal and began to draw her portrait. Staring at her body, Leonardo’s mind battled with unfamiliar temptations: Have I not seen desire in her face? Her beauty truly is worthy of all the accolades afforded her. If only my arms could hold such an exquisite goddess. The lady in question held her composure like some Athenian statue, the only movement being the rhythmic rise and fall of her bosom.

Have I not seen desire in her face? Her beauty truly is worthy of all the accolades afforded her. If only my arms could hold such an exquisite goddess. His musings were interrupted by an ominous April cloud stealing what light remained from the sun.

‘We have been defeated by the elements. Cecilia, would it be too much of an inconvenience to ask you to return at the same hour tomorrow?’

‘I think that will be fine,’ she replied, trying to hide her disappointment that their encounter was over so quickly. ‘Perhaps in a day or two, the gods will shine on us.’

When they returned to the workshop, the court official jumped up and eyed both for evidence of any misdemeanour. ‘Is everything in order?’ he snapped.

‘Everything, apart from the weather,’ Cecilia replied as pleasantly as possible. As if to reinforce her assertion, the heavens opened. Leonardo stood in the doorway, a hand outstretched to catch the raindrops that beat upon his hand. Cecilia nodded to Maria, who opened a white silk parasol. ‘Good day, maestro,’ she said, departing with her escort.

Soon after her departure, an agitated Leonardo paced about his workshop, drawing looks of puzzlement from his apprentices and derision from Salai.

What’s up with you?’ he said, ‘Got an itch up your c***k?’ Salai had wide eyes and a chubby face that shone like the proverbial cherub. He was blessed with thick gold ringlets curling around his bronzed cheeks, while his azure eyes sparkled with mischief. His feet and hands were swift, and he was a deft hand at picking pockets, an art he had learned on the rough streets of Milan.

When he had first come into Leonardo’s care, Salai was even wilder and more foul-mouthed. Indeed, one of the maestro’s best customers, Signor Agusto Montafarno, was trying on a costume for a gala celebration that Leonardo had designed and made when the little vagrant took advantage of the situation to engage in the theft of the signor’s purse. The poor man was so vexed at this betrayal he was adamant that Salai should be hauled before the courts. It took every ounce of persuasive energy from Leonardo to forestall this eventuality. Nonetheless, the good signor swore he would never do business with Leonardo as long as ‘the little devil’ remained under his roof.

‘’Salai’s peasant father was a drunkard who drifted between sporadic periods in work followed by longer periods out of work. Salai’s mother had died when he was very young. Shortly after her death, the boy’s father had left him to fend for himself, abandoning him like an unwanted mongrel. Salai soon learned that if you wanted food you must steal to acquire it. A chance encounter drew Salai and Leonardo together. Leonardo had not been looking for a son, indeed he was indifferent to the notion of taking a wife and raising a family. In truth, he relished telling his friends, ‘marriage was like putting your hand into a bag of snakes in the hope of pulling out an eel.’

One winter’s morning, when the wind and the rain were fleeing down the mountains, Leonardo opened his workshop door to find a child propped up asleep in the doorway. Above the door was an overhang that offered some protection from the rain. The rags it wore barely covered its flesh, which was red raw from the elements. Noticing the child’s fingers and lips had turned blue, and its face was bleached of colour, Leonardo picked the child up and carried it inside his workshop. The child barely managed to open its eyes, so weak was it from cold and hunger. Leonardo laid the child down upon his bed. The feeble creature mustered the strength to kick out and scream.

‘Get off me! Don’t hurt me! Leave me!’ But then, as if waking from a trance, the creature stopped its wild thrashing and lay panting, staring up at Leonardo. It was only then that Leonardo was able to ascertain the frightened wretch before him was a boy and, if not for the filth that smothered his body, a handsome one.

In a short time, Salai came to live in Leonardo’s household as his adopted son. It was an act of generosity that took the maestro’s friends by surprise. Having been abandoned himself at the age of five when he was removed from his mother’s home by his father and sent to live with his uncle, Leonardo knew something of the pain of abandonment and rejection and had much sympathy with the plight of the child. Even when the boy proved to be a nuisance, Leonardo showed himself to be a forgiving even indulgent father.

In a thoughtful frame of mind, Leonardo walked to and fro around his workshop, an oblong building with three large south-facing latticed windows that opened outward onto the street outside. There was a standard door at one end of the workshop and, at the other, a large double door for loading materials and for carrying out large finished pieces. Two workbenches were fitted into the studio. One was on the wall opposite the window, crammed with a variety of instruments and work tools it ran the full length of the room. The second, being smaller, was tucked alongside the wall by the door one ordinarily entered through. There was a kiln and a small furnace near to the shorter workbench plus two basins of water. The floor was covered in terracotta tiles. Upon them was a faded pattern, and in parts green olive trees were still vaguely visible.

The training of apprentices had never been an ambition of Leonardo’s and he made use of the few he appointed sparingly. In one corner, by the large double doors, was a device shaped like a wheel with what appeared to be a wooden wizard’s hat split into lattice-shaped panels that had metal pipes protruding all around it. Next to this stood a box-like machine, woven with interlocking mechanical coils and springs, a self-propelled cart.

‘You’re boring me,’ said Salai, frustrated at watching his papa march silently up and down the length of the workshop. He picked up a vial of red paint and threw it against the cartoon for the Virgin of the Rocks, before he hurried on his way.

Virgin of the RocksLeonardo picked up a cloth, dabbed it in a little water and set about cleaning the red paint Salai had splattered across the left-hand corner of the ancona.

‘Would you like me to do that maestro?’ Francesco asked. Leonardo ushered him away with a wave of his hands.

Having cleaned the paint, Leonardo retired to his room, lay on his bed, stretched out his legs and closed his eyes. His mind raced as it pictured Cecilia’s graceful figure and heaving bosom, her piercing eyes and inviting lips, the contours of her dress that accentuated those parts of her body unseen by all but her lover. Aroused by sensual feelings he had long since denied himself he wrote in his journal: A man who cannot control his appetites is no better than a dog. He put down his quill and sighed: ‘Oh Cecilia, what is to become of me? You have seduced me in mind if not in body.’

A man who cannot control his appetites is no better than a dog.