Part 1

_Immortals of Science_

LEONARDO DA VINCI _Pathfinder of Science_

_Henry S. Gillette_

PICTURES BY THE AUTHOR

_Franklin Watts, Inc., 575 Lexington Avenue New York 22, New York_

_To my wife Trudy_

FIRST PRINTING

_Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 62-8426_ Copyright © 1962 by Franklin Watts, Inc. _Manufactured in the United States of America_

DESIGNED BY BERNARD KLEIN

AUTHOR’S NOTE

It is natural that, within the confines of these few pages, many facets of Leonardo’s extraordinary personality will be missing. That he was an artist, a man of letters, a poet and a philosopher are well known. That he was also a man of humor, as well as a prophet whose vision extended far beyond his times, are facts that I have also tried to include in this biography. There are many gaps in our knowledge of his life, and these I have sometimes filled with my own imagination to give some continuity to his story. Little is known of his early days, his period of travels after leaving Milan and his years in Rome. There is, too, a certain mystery in his relations to those around him, since our descriptions of him derive mostly from his often cryptic, personal notes and from biographers who wrote of him many years after he had died.

This book is about Leonardo the scientist, and to fully write of his many accomplishments would require an encyclopedic mind. My intent has been to extract the essence of his story in the hopes that it would arouse the enthusiasm of a reader to further his interest in those other, more fully documented books—and, above all, in the notebooks that Leonardo himself wrote.

—H. S. G.

_Rome, August 1961_

_Contents_

1 _The Shield_ 1 2 _Florence_ 9 3 _A Studio of His Own_ 20 4 _Years of Frustration_ 28 5 _Milan_ 37 6 _The Monument_ 49 7 _Success_ 60 8 _The French_ 73 9 _Cesare Borgia_ 86 10 _Shattered Hopes_ 98 11 _The Return to Milan_ 114 12 _Rome_ 129 13 _The Last Years_ 147 14 _Mankind’s Debt to Leonardo_ 159 _Significant Dates in Leonardo’s Life_ 162 _Index_ 164

1 _The Shield_

Dusk was beginning to gather in the valley at the foot of Monte Albano as young Leonardo turned toward home. Stopping by a rushing stream to wash the dust of the day’s explorations from his face, he laid aside his cap and his leather pouch and plunged his hands into the cold mountain water. He felt the force of the current and watched the whirl and flow of bubbles around his bare arms. There was the same feeling, he thought, to the flow of air he had experienced blowing around the rocky crags of the mountains.

This evening, however, there was no time to sit awhile and think. He was in a hurry to get home. Hastily scooping the water in his cupped palms, he splashed it over his head and face, then shaking the water from his hair he rose and picked up his cap. He took a satisfied look in his pouch, slung it over his shoulder and headed down the stony trail to the village of Vinci.

Vinci was a small hill town situated on a spur of Monte Albano. Its castle and the bell tower above the houses seemed like sentinels guarding the slopes of vineyards and olive groves spreading down into the valley.

Leonardo da Vinci, which means “Leonardo from the town of Vinci,” thought about his home. He knew that he had been born in Anchiano, near Vinci, on April 15 of the year 1452, to a peasant girl named Caterina. At the age of five, he had been sent for by his natural father, Piero da Vinci, to come and live at his family’s house in Vinci, a comfortable and roomy place with a spacious garden. Piero, five years before, had married Albiera di Giovanni Amadori, a girl of sixteen. They had had no children of their own, and Leonardo was welcomed into the home with affection by his young stepmother.

When Leonardo was about eleven, young Albiera died, leaving a darkened and saddened house. Two years later his father married another girl by the name of Francesca Lanfredini. Although laughter and song soon replaced the grief, Leonardo never forgot the love of his first stepmother.

Also in the house lived Antonio, his grandfather, who was eighty-five, his grandmother, his uncle Allessandro Amadori and family, and, best of all, his uncle Francesco. The da Vincis, who could trace their beginnings in the town back to the thirteenth century, had always been respected lawyers and landowners. Because Uncle Francesco was neither a lawyer nor a great landowner, the people of the town said he did nothing; but he tended the family vineyards, and, to the delight of Leonardo, he raised his own silkworms.

As Leonardo entered the main gate, he noticed that the oil lamps were being lit above the stalls of the marketplace, and the lively confusion of the last hours of business was in full swing. People nodded and smiled to him, for as a boy of fifteen he was already a striking figure. He was tall with long, auburn hair falling to his shoulders and his face was so charming that it was frequently compared to those of the angels painted in the chapels of the church. The music of his lute, the sound of his voice, and the gentleness of his person were such that all hearts and doors were open to him.

Tonight, however, Leonardo avoided the usual invitations to stop and chat. His father would be back from Florence; he had been going there more and more frequently as his fame as a lawyer grew. Now Leonardo was thinking that he had almost finished the assignment his father, half jokingly, had given him many weeks ago—so many weeks ago that he was sure his father had forgotten about it. At that time a peasant, whose skill in providing fish and game for the table of Piero’s big household was greatly appreciated, had asked a favor of him. This man had a round, wooden shield cut from a fig tree and he had asked Piero to have a design painted on it for him in Florence. Piero, who had noticed the sketches his son was making of plants, rock formations, and scenes in his wanderings about the countryside, decided to test his son’s ability and gave the shield to the boy. In the secrecy of his room, into which no one was allowed, Leonardo had smoothed and prepared the wood, and on it he was painting a monster.

Scrambling over rocks, through streams, and into caves, Leonardo had been in the habit of gathering all manner of creeping and crawling life. Patiently he would bring these home in his leather pouch and carefully study and draw them. Maggots, bats, butterflies, locusts, and snakes added to the confusion of the boy’s already cluttered room. Everywhere he went he collected the things that aroused his curiosity; and as a result, his room was always filled with rocks, dried plants, flowers, the skeletons of small animals—and his pages of notations and drawings. Now Leonardo had combined the features of these small forms of life to make a monster—emerging from a dark grotto and breathing fire and smoke—a thing more terrifying than if done from imagination, for each feature was a duplicate of a reality in nature.

Unobserved, Leonardo reached the privacy of his room and emptied this day’s collection on a table beside the shield. He lit a candle and examined his catch—a lizard and a large grasshopper. These would complete his picture; and, the most extraordinary find of the day—a fossil seashell found high on the slopes of a mountain! How did it get there? Was it a result of the flood about which his religion had taught him? Had an immense wave deposited this ancient sea-life high on the Albano mountains? Looking more closely he saw that it was a type of sea-snail and in almost perfect preservation. This he would have to think about and examine later.

Now, however, the picture must be completed, for he hoped to surprise his father in the morning. But just then, Leonardo heard the family stirring below and his father calling him to dinner. Reluctantly he left his table, made himself presentable and went downstairs.

“Ah, Leonardo,” his father said when he appeared in the family dining room. “I saw Benedetto dell’Abbaco on the way in town and he tells me you haven’t been to school as often as you should—is that true?”

“Yes, Papa—but I’m not doing badly.”

“Signor Benedetto might agree, at least in your mathematics. He tells me you ask him questions that often make him stop and think. But Leonardo, you have other subjects—Latin, reading, and writing—as well as arithmetic. You mustn’t neglect the others, my boy. But come—let us eat.”

Together they sat down with the rest of the family—a large, prosperous, and happy gathering. When dinner was over Leonardo made hurried excuses to all the family, protesting that he was too tired to sing, and escaped back into his room. For a long time he worked, unaware that the house was growing quieter. Finally he laid down his brushes and his maul stick, pushed his chair back and smiled a triumphant smile. The shield was finished. Tomorrow he would ask his father in to look at it.

Conscious now that everybody had gone to bed, Leonardo blew out his candle and opened the shutters. The night sky was a panoply of stars and only here and there was the dark loneliness of the valley relieved by pinpoints of light. Leonardo leaned his head against the window frame and stared at the blue infinity above him. What exactly were the stars? Did all of them move around the earth? What was the haze that obscured the horizon ever so faintly? What was that sea-snail doing in the mountains? Why? How?

The next morning Leonardo found his father and Uncle Francesco in the garden deep in conversation about their vineyards and olive groves.

“Papa, I have a surprise for you up in my room—can you come now?”

“Yes, Leonardo. What is it you have found now—not a better way to raise my grapes, I’ll wager!”

The elder da Vinci put his arm around the boy’s shoulder and went with him up to the door of his room.

“Wait here, Papa, until I say to come in.”

Leonardo unlocked his door, lifted the cloth from the shield standing on the easel and opened the shutter just a trifle so that a soft light filled the room.

“Papa—you can come in now.”

Piero entered—he had long forgotten the round piece of wood—and suddenly he froze in the middle of the room.

“Have mercy on me!” he said when he saw the horrible fire-breathing creature. In the dimness of the room, the monster and the murky cave from which it was emerging were terribly real. Piero actually started to back out of the room in fright, when Leonardo laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Papa, this work has served its purpose; take it away, then, for it has produced the intended effect.”

The shield was the talk of the house; it was set up and marveled at. As for Piero, he resolved to take it with him to Florence secretly and sell it, giving his peasant friend some cheap substitute that he would buy in the marketplace.

So, a few days later, Leonardo’s father saddled his horse and had the shield wrapped and packed in his saddlebag. Also, unknown to his son, he took some of the boy’s drawings. Piero had now realized that Leonardo might have a rare talent. Moreover, he was planning to move to Florence with his family so that he could be nearer to the Badia, or the law offices of the city, for whom he had been frequently employed. There, thought Piero, Leonardo’s talent could be developed under the best of teachers.

It was many days before Leonardo’s father returned; when he did, he gathered his family together and it was obvious to all that he had exciting news. First, Piero announced that he and Francesca would move to Florence since he and a law partner were now engaged in securing office space from the Badia. It was a handsome office centrally located opposite the palace of the _Podestà_, or chief magistrate.

Then, turning to Leonardo, he said: “I have shown some of your drawings to Master Andrea del Verrochio and his enthusiasm for your skill has decided me to place you in his studio as an apprentice. What do you think of that?”

Leonardo was stunned. Verrochio, the great artist and sculptor! Florence! The city-state whose power and influence had spread far beyond her own walls. Now he would study in earnest; now he would find the answers to his never-ending questions. He embraced his father and could say nothing.

2 _Florence_

The Italy of Medieval and Renaissance days was not a unified country as it is today. It was, of course, part of the Holy Roman Empire, but the main governing forces in the land were in the city-states, of which Florence was one of the most powerful. A city-state was much more than a city—it was almost a kingdom in itself. Each had its own army, and very often there were large-scale wars between such city-states as Milan, Naples, Rome, Venice—and of course Florence. The Italians of those days considered themselves citizens—not of Italy as a whole—but of their particular cities; people coming from other cities were looked upon as “foreigners,” even though they looked the same, wore the same style of clothing, and spoke the same language!

All the power, influence, and ideas of this period in history were concentrated within the city-states. A man might be a very fine artist, engineer, or philosopher, but unless he managed to bring his work to the attention of the ruler of one of the cities, he was likely to remain in obscurity. Thus it was that Piero da Vinci, knowing that his son would have to have a powerful patron if he was to succeed at all, brought Leonardo to Florence.

In 1467, when the da Vinci family entered Florence, the city had been under the rule of the Medici family for some thirty-three years. As it was in most of these city-states, the head of the ruling family—at this time Piero de’ Medici—was in charge of the government of Florence and the surrounding countryside. But Piero was fifty-one years old and ailing, and he had only two years of life left at the time of Leonardo’s arrival.

None of this was in Leonardo’s mind as he rode with his father through one of the great, guarded gates of the city. He was thinking, not of politics, but of the fabulous sights that awaited him in this rich center of commerce and activity.

The narrow streets of the city were so crowded that is was necessary for the da Vinci family, together with their servants and the donkeys laden with household effects, to go single file. Leonardo rode behind his father, shouting questions, and, at the same time, turning his head from side to side so as not to miss a thing. Brought up in the solitude of mountains and valleys, and accustomed to the quiet life of a village, the boy of fifteen was overwhelmed with the excitement of the city.

The party was now making its way past the booths of hundreds of shops, past magnificent palaces built by wealthy merchants, and across squares filled with the produce from hundreds of farms. Every now and then, Leonardo caught a glimpse of the cathedral dome, one of the architectural marvels of its day. He had seen the cathedral with its bell tower and also the towering spire of the Palazzo della Signoria—which means the Palace of the Lords—from a hill as they approached the city. This palace still stands and today it is called the Palazzo Vecchio or Old Palace. But now these sights were lost to view in the midst of the narrow streets, other churches, flags, and the lines of washing that seemed to hang everywhere. Frequently, Piero’s party was pressed against a wall as a procession shoved its way through a street. Sometimes it was by armed horsemen escorting a rich banker to some appointment; other times it was a file of cowled monks observing some saint’s day and carrying huge wax candles before them.

After they had crossed the magnificent square of the Signoria, in front of the Palace of the same name, Piero leaned down from his horse and asked a blacksmith where Verrochio’s studio might be. The man shouted above the din of clanging hammers:

“Everybody knows that shop, Signor—it’s down that street and to the right! You can’t miss it—ask anybody!”

The man was right, for the workshop of Verrochio was not hard to find. Verrochio was considered one of Florence’s finest artists and everybody knew of him. He was a short, broad-shouldered man of thirty-two with a round face, shrewd eyes, a thin mouth and dark curly hair that reached almost to his shoulders. In his workshop were two other apprentices—young Pietro Perugino, who was six years older than Leonardo, and Lorenzo di Credi, a boy of eight. They all lived in the house together and, after Leonardo was shown where he would sleep and had put away the few things he had brought with him from Vinci, he was taken to the place where he would work.

Verrochio, whose real name was Andrea di Michele di Francesco de’ Cioni, had taken the name of his teacher, a renowned goldsmith, as was the custom in the shops at that time. Verrochio himself was a skilled goldsmith. But to be an artist and to have your own workshop in the year 1467 meant being a specialist in many things. Into Verrochio’s place came a great variety of artistic work—painting pictures, sculpting and architecture, goldsmithing, designing and making armor, creating decorated furniture, designing mechanical toys, and even preparing stage scenery.

Verrochio, of course, would attend to the greater creative tasks, while his apprentices did the chores of grinding colors, preparing panels for painting, making armatures for his sculpture, hewing to size the marble for a statue, preparing molds for casting, building models for a new palace or church—in fact, all the countless number of preparations to the finished work. Sometimes, if an apprentice showed extraordinary talent, he would be allowed to work on the finished painting or assist with the final strokes of the chisel. Verrochio was a busy man and a successful artisan. To further his own ambitions, he was now absorbed in the perfecting of mathematical perspective and the study of geometry.

The curious Leonardo had come to the right man. In Verrochio’s workshop, where so many crafts were learned at the same time, his powers of observation were able to develop; his hunger to know about mathematics was fed. In Verrochio, Leonardo found a teacher who would encourage these investigations and urge him to study a wide variety of subjects. Leonardo now felt his lack of a fuller education. He started to borrow mathematics textbooks and to seek out men who could teach him what he needed to know. After each day’s work was over, Leonardo would continue on into the night, catching up on his neglected studies and discovering for himself new areas of thought such as anatomy, movement and weight, botany, and another subject which was to occupy much of his later years—_hydraulics_, or the useful application of water power.

In these early years, Leonardo commenced his famous _Notes_. He had developed his own “secret” writing in his childhood at Vinci. These notes—consisting of observations, proportions, and reminders to himself—were inscribed on his drawings. They were, however, unreadable to the eye—until held up to a mirror. Leonardo was lefthanded and could write fluently in this strange manner. It could have been for many reasons that he did so—perhaps from a natural desire for secrecy, perhaps for reasons of safety from possible enemies. In those days, plots and counterplots of all sorts were commonplace—a rumor or a whisper in the right ear could destroy a reputation or financially ruin a career.

Leonardo was popular in Florence. He traveled with the young men of the town, and his handsome appearance and enormous strength (he could bend a horseshoe in his hands) made him a welcome figure in many houses. He continued to play the lute and the lyre. He wrote poetry, composed his own music, and sang with a pleasing voice. His blue eyes were kind and his manner gentle. He always avoided arguments and competition when he could. When he walked through the marketplace and came upon the caged birds, he would buy them—just to set them free. Indeed, his love of animals had become so great that he no longer ate meat.

During these years in Verrochio’s service, Leonardo grew in stature as an artist and rapidly developed into a scientist of promise. He amazed his master when he painted an angel in an altarpiece that had been assigned to Verrochio. He painted it in the new oil colors recently acquired from the Flemish painters. So astounded was Verrochio with its grace that the master vowed he would never lift a brush again if a “mere child” could so surpass him. In this picture there is a tuft of grass beside a kneeling figure, also painted by Leonardo, which indicates by its careful attention to detail the amount of research he did before committing it to canvas. In other paintings he made beautiful drawings of a lily and studies of animals and crabs, giving a hint of what was to come. For, in these preparatory works, Leonardo could not be satisfied until he had thoroughly studied the characteristics of plants and animals in general. Later in life, he was to become more and more absorbed in these researches until they occupied the greater part of his time.

In 1469, when Leonardo had been in Florence only two short years, Piero de’ Medici died and was succeeded by his son, the mighty Lorenzo de’ Medici—or Lorenzo the Magnificent, as he was often called. Now the city of Florence felt itself under the control of a man who really knew how to use power. Lorenzo was Florence; nothing happened without his making it happen, and he became one of the most prominent patrons of art and scholarship in all of Italy. If Leonardo was to make any headway in Florence, he would have to make himself noticed by this new Medici ruler.