Part 9

Thus Leonardo drifted farther and farther away from his painting. This, in itself, caused people to talk in the papal city. For he had earned fame as a painter, but his passion for science was regarded as strange and whimsical. Occasionally, he did receive a small commission from the workshop of Raphael, yet these were like the crumbs from a rich man’s table.

Even the toys Leonardo made at this period for the amusement of his patrons were looked upon as somewhat weird. For example, he would take small pieces of wax and mold them into strange little animals and then inflate them so that they floated in the air in front of a startled guest. Once he caught a curious lizard in the garden and spent hours putting scales all over the tiny body, attached to it a little beard and horns, then let it out from a box at a banquet. The guests jumped back with fear and the women became hysterical.

One of Leonardo’s jokes that has been passed down in accounts of his life at this period must have created quite a sensation. He showed the company the cleaned entrails of a sheep resting on the palm of his hand. After telling them to wait and watch he took the entrails in another room and with a bellows inflated them with warm air. As the entrails filled with air they expanded and extended. They crept into the room where the company waited. Slowly they grew and grew until they began to fill the room. The guests overturned their chairs in their hurry to get out of the way of this shapeless, translucent creature. Then Leonardo appeared, the air-filled entrails giving way before him, and said:

“Sires, this is but an example and symbol of virtue. As you can see, the smallest virtue is capable of the greatest growth.”

The guests laughed, but it was an uncomfortable laugh. Thus another story was added to the legend of Leonardo as an odd old man.

Leonardo, whose work—particularly his anatomical studies—had constantly been interrupted by the fortunes of war, had found another hospital in Rome where he could continue these studies. This time it was his intention to write a treatise on speech. He dissected and drew the anatomy of the larynx (the voice box), the vocal cords and the trachea (the air passage to the lungs), and all the muscles that control the movements of the tongue and the lips. If you pronounce each letter of the alphabet you will feel these muscles of the lips, especially with the letters “o,” “p,” and “f.” Carefully he noted how the air vibrations from the trachea form themselves into vowels and consonants, and he drew the membrane which, when air is pressed against it, makes the sound “aah.”

At this same time he was also busy finishing a treatise on painting which he had begun when he was working on the “Last Supper” for Ludovico Sforza. But it was for his knowledge of military engineering that he was sent to the city of Parma by the Pope on September 25, 1514. Here he stayed at the Bell Inn while examining the fortifications and other defenses of the city.

Leonardo’s patron, Giuliano de’ Medici, had been appointed governor of this particular area and, since Pope Leo X was fearful of two powerful countries, France and Spain, he was preparing the papal territory against possible invasion. Another fear of the Pope—and indeed of everybody in Rome—was malaria, the disease carried by the mosquitoes that bred in the Pontine marshes west and southwest of the city. At that time, however, no one knew the cause was mosquitoes; rather, they thought it was the bad air from the marshes.

As Leonardo had already been effective in draining the pestilential marshes of Piombino for Cesare Borgia and, later, those around Milan for Charles d’Amboise, he was assigned the same task for the Pontine marshes. He surveyed the entire area to the sea and made another extraordinary aerial type map. His recommendations included draining the entire area, enlarging and regulating the Martino river and cutting an extra outlet from the river Livoli to the sea. These plans were adopted some years later and parts of the marshes were drained successfully, yielding new land for the cultivation of crops.

By December of 1514 Leonardo had finished his treatise on speech and, possibly in an effort to attract the attention of the Pope, he submitted it to the Privy-Chamberlain, Battista dell’Aquila. As Pope Leo was surrounded by an army of secretaries and assistants who passed on everything submitted, this manuscript with its beautiful drawings was mislaid and lost and only a few notes and sketches remain.

The continual discouragement of his life in Rome was offset by a visit from his half-brother, Giuliano, around Christmas. Leonardo was held in esteem by his family despite the quarrel over his father’s and his uncle Francesco’s will, and his half-brothers were pleased to tell of their famous relative who lived in the Belvedere as guest of the Medicis. Yet they knew little of Leonardo’s scientific dreams and his lack of recognition in the papal city.

Often, Leonardo’s greatest comfort was to return to his notes. The challenge of geometry and the mysteries of the movement of air and water kept him from brooding about his lonely life. Francesco de’ Melzi, Leonardo’s young friend, had more and more taken over the practical responsibilities of his everyday life. Except for his workshop, where the troublesome Georg worked at the making of mirrors, and an occasional small commission for a painting, Leonardo was free to study.

In addition to his geometrical investigations, Leonardo now experimented with the science of _statics_ (objects that are stationary), and _dynamics_ (objects in motion). One of his most important discoveries in the science of mechanics came about during this period. Concerning the division of weight, he wrote, “There are three conditions of gravity of which the one is its simple natural gravity, the second is its accidental gravity, the third the friction produced by it. But the natural weight is in itself unchangeable, the accidental which is joined to it is of infinite force, and the friction varies according to the places wherein it occurs, namely rough or smooth places.” Thus he realized and formulated what composes the movement of an object. He found that movement is the result of separate forces acting upon the object from different directions, as for example, the initial push, the pull of gravity and the resistance of friction. And, before Galileo, Leonardo further experimented with objects dropped from a height. As the result of repeated experiments, he noted that the fall was being affected by the earth’s rotation. That is, the object dropped always fell in a slight eastward direction rather than vertically downward—a fact later proved conclusively by Isaac Newton and Robert Hooke in the next century.

He also became fascinated with spiral motion, such as is found in a spinning top or in a whirlpool of water. Because of his interest in _hydrodynamics_, or the movement of water, he began to sketch imaginary “Deluge compositions.” These were drawings showing the world—probably inspired by the Bible—in a chaos of wind and floods. They were based on his years of scientific research. Indeed, his drawings of actual whirlpools are still among the greatest of his scientific art. Today, with all the latest technical aids, such as dusting a whirlpool with powdered rosin and then photographing it, an accurate three-dimensional picture is impossible. Yet Leonardo, by sheer observation and analysis coupled with his genius for drawing, could reproduce the complicated shape of whirling water.

In the relatedness of his explorations of water, air and movement, and weight, he worked out the similarity between the laws of equilibrium controlling solids and liquids. The equation between the motive force and resistance that makes for equilibrium or balance in solids can be compared to the equation between the upward pressure of liquids and the downward pressure exerted on them.

Far into the night Leonardo worked on his papers. He tired more easily now, and his eyes had grown weaker. To provide the increase in light that his failing eyesight demanded, he had improved on his original oil lamp by making the wick rise as the oil was burned away, and he had extra lamps fitted to the ceiling.

On January 9, 1515 Leonardo wrote in his notes, “Il Magnifico Giuliano de’ Medici set out on the ninth day of January 1515 at daybreak from Rome, to go and marry a wife in Savoy. And on that day came the news of the death of the King of France (Louis XII).” This meant that his new patron had left and his old patron had died. Leonardo’s note was a sad one and perhaps he felt, in the departure of his patron, more alone than ever in the crowded life of the Vatican. Giuliano, on the urging of his brother, was marrying Philiberta of Savoy, in an effort to strengthen the prestige of the Medici. Louis XII, before he died, had formed a league against Spain, and with the marriage of the Pope’s brother to a noble house of France, the league would be strengthened by keeping the Pope on the side of France. Actually Pope Leo was playing both sides, for at the time he was also friendly with Spain.

Shortly after Giuliano’s departure from Rome, Leonardo fell ill, presumably from a mild heart attack complicated by a touch of malarial fever. The doctor had been called. It was a warning, the doctor told Francesco de’ Melzi, and Leonardo must remain quiet for quite awhile.

By the end of the winter Leonardo was back on his feet and apparently feeling completely well again. Giuliano himself had fallen ill about the same time and the news that he had recovered and was finally returning to Rome cheered Leonardo. He sat down and wrote a long letter to his patron expressing his joy. This letter also included a long list of complaints against Georg and Johannes. Georg was now using his room in Leonardo’s apartment to do work for others. He lied to Leonardo and flew into such a rage when he was questioned that no one could go near him. Moreover, Johannes, the mirror-maker, was now moving back into the Vatican and turning out mirrors for everyone, even using Georg’s room as his own workroom. Johannes boasted of his skill and told everybody that Leonardo did not know what he was doing. Thus, it was not surprising that Leonardo, in his long complaint, was taking out the anger and frustration he felt against all the injustices of his life in Rome.

But by summer Leonardo was again employed as a military engineer. Francis I had succeeded to the throne of France. The new French King was anxious to secure his lost title to the Dukedom of Milan and was preparing another invasion of Italy. Pope Leo X, still trying to play both sides at once, was making secret agreements with Francis while at the same time joining the King of Spain, Milan, Genoa, and the Swiss in an alliance against France. Consequently, he sent Leonardo out to inspect the fortifications of Civitavecchia, a city on the Tyrrhenian coast not too far from Rome. When, in August, Francis I crossed into Italy with an army of thirty-five thousand men including Marshal Trivulzio, the Pope ordered his brother, Giuliano, to take command of the papal forces. On the way to assume this command, Giuliano fell ill and collapsed. His sickness this time was soon to be fatal.

Leonardo returned to Rome with his survey of Civitavecchia, where he immediately learned of his patron’s latest illness. Perhaps realizing that Giuliano was fatally ill, Leonardo made a desperate effort to gain the recognition he felt should be his. He entered the competition for a new façade of San Lorenzo in Florence. Among the other competitors was Michelangelo, his younger and yet oldest rival.

In October of 1515, Francis I had recaptured Milan and by Christmas was in Rome. Leonardo may have met the new King of France in Bologna where Pope Leo X had personally traveled in order to settle a peace treaty with France. Certainly it is known that he attended Francis’ court in Rome. Leonardo’s name was well respected in French circles and, as Francis had already admired the pictures by Leonardo, the meeting was a happy occasion for them both. Indeed, the recognition that Leonardo had sought in his native land was never as great as that accorded to him by the French.

As Francis I prepared to leave for France in January he must have offered Leonardo a position at his court. While he still hoped that Giuliano de’ Medici would recover from his illness and return to Rome, Francis’ offer gave him support in the knowledge that he had a powerful, new friend.

March of 1516 brought the first of three events that were to change the course of Leonardo’s last years. Giuliano de’ Medici died, leaving Leonardo not only without a patron, but without a friend in the Vatican. Now sixty-four years old, he was reluctant to leave his comfortable quarters in the Belvedere with its workshop and pleasant gardens. Besides, deep within himself, he felt that Rome could still offer him the fame that had always escaped him.

Spring ripened into summer and the second event occurred. The competition for the new façade of San Lorenzo in Florence was won by Michelangelo. To Leonardo the news was a blow. The success of his old rival weakened his position in the Vatican even further and added to the growing hostility he had felt in the people surrounding the Pope.

The third event was the sum of many small events. Georg and his friend Johannes, in their jealousy, had spread much gossip about Leonardo in court circles. They now took advantage of Giuliano’s death to circulate stories about Leonardo’s dissections of bodies in the hospital. These were added to vicious gossip that Leonardo was pro-French. This news eventually reached Pope Leo X. The Pope himself was perfectly aware of the practice of dissection and, personally, he had turned his eyes the other way. However, as dissection was contrary to Church doctrine, an official complaint to the head of the Church could not be ignored. The Pope used it as an excuse to be rid of this tiresome old man whom he had tolerated only for his brother’s sake. Leonardo was abandoned.

The year 1516 was drawing to a close. Leonardo had decided to seek the patronage offered him by Francis I. So he and Francesco de’ Melzi, his loyal young friend, left Rome for the long journey into France. As he left his native land for the last time, Leonardo looked back over his years—from the silver lute that had sent him to Milan, to the death of Giuliano, to the final rejection of Pope Leo X. Remembering how Lorenzo de’ Medici had sent him to Ludovico so many years before, Leonardo thought to himself with great sadness, “The Medici created and destroyed me.”

13 _The Last Years_

Leonardo looked around from where he was leaning on the parapet of the Chateau d’Amboise to watch a group of young lords and ladies playing croquet on the emerald-green lawn. The click of the mallets and balls was mingled with the shouts and laughter of the young people. It was late afternoon in May and although the sun was warm the breeze from the west was chilly. Leonardo looked down again from the sheer height of the castle wall across the wide sweep of the Loire river and the valley extending as far as the eye could see. Swallows were swooping low over the banks below and the wind carried their shrilling cries up to him. The forested islands and sandbars interrupted the steady flow of the river and Leonardo could see the reflections sway in the current. He had been studying the river but he realized that his aging eyes were not up to the task of concentrating for long. The wind made them water, so he turned away and started back to his home.

There was much that was familiar in the castle at Amboise. The thick, high walls and round towers and especially the graceful, lacy spires of the king’s residence brought back much that he had known in his native land. The gardens had been planted by Italians—there were orange trees and even a mulberry tree from his beloved plains of Lombardy. The king’s residence and chapel had been constructed and the decorations carved in stone by Italian artisans. Leonardo could stop and talk in his native tongue with many of the men employed by the king. Since the time of Charles VIII, the French had brought in the latest Renaissance styles from Italy. Leonardo’s steps took him back from the castle grounds and down a path with a hand-railing. The steep roofs of the town of Amboise with their chimneys could be seen below him. The path led to a small manor house, like a miniature castle with sharp spires and lacy, carved-stone gables that was set in green lawns and gravel paths.

The Manoir de Cloux, as Leonardo’s house was called, had been a hunting lodge for Francis I, but when Leonardo had arrived he gave the house to Leonardo for his home. Francis, in his admiration for this great man, also gave him seven hundred crowns a year, together with a pension of four hundred for Francesco de’ Melzi.

The long journey from Rome had left Leonardo tired and weak and he had fallen ill again shortly after his arrival. This time the attack was more serious and had left him with his right hand permanently crippled. He looked at it now as he opened the door to his room. “Another warning,” he thought, “and there’s still so much to do.”

The young, robust King Francis was everywhere at once. He gloried in knightly tournaments, hunts, and sports of all kinds. Always restless, he might appear at any place unannounced. Frequently there would be a clamor at the gates of Leonardo’s home and the king would ride in with one or two of his nobles. With a great jingling of spurs he would bound up the stairs of the manor house calling for Leonardo. He delighted in long talks with the old man, and would listen respectfully as Leonardo, his deep-set eyes brooding over his notes, would demonstrate some scientific point on a blank sheet of paper.

At this time, Leonardo was engaged on three projects which demanded his immediate attention. One was the entertainment for a banquet that Francis was giving for his sister, Marguerite de Valois, and her husband. Another was a new design for the king’s castle at Amboise, and the third was a design for making a navigable waterway from Amboise to Romorantin. Although these three projects were the main ones that occupied Leonardo’s time, there was always the supervising of his pupils’ painting on the walls in the little chapel of the manor house, his own work on a painting of St. John the Baptist, and the continual ordering and revising of his notes.

The banquet took place in October of 1517, and the mechanical lion Leonardo had made was an immediate success. It “walked” by means of a spring motor, into the hall, opening and closing its fierce mouth while swaying its head from side to side. With a wand that he had been given, Francis I stepped down from his seat and tapped the lion three times. The toy fell apart and from it a cascade of white lilies poured out at the king’s feet.

Also at this time there was a distinguished guest at the castle of Amboise. He was a fellow-countryman of Leonardo and his name was Cardinal Luigi d’Aragona. With him was his secretary Antonio de’ Beatis. As Leonardo was now a famous member of King Francis’ court, the cardinal paid him a visit accompanied by Antonio. The extraordinary anatomy drawings and all his notes were shown to the cardinal; he and his secretary were deeply impressed. They were also surprised to learn that Leonardo had never been accorded the same recognition by his own countrymen. Antonio de’ Beatis wrote home that “This gentleman has written a treatise on anatomy, showing by illustrations the members, muscles, nerves, veins, joints, intestines and whatever else is to discuss in the bodies of men and women, in a way that has never yet been done by anyone else. All this we have seen with our own eyes; and he said that he had dissected more than thirty bodies, both of men and women of all ages. He has also written of the nature of water, and of divers machines, and of other matters which he has set down in an endless number of volumes, all in the vulgar tongue [meaning Italian not Latin], which, if they be published, will be profitable and delightful.”

By now Leonardo had accumulated thousands of pages of notes, and they lay stacked in all manner of chests and boxes. Often now, as Leonardo surveyed the work of his lifetime, he realized that he would never see the day of their publication. Time was slipping through his fingers. Already summer had come and gone and now the sharp winds of fall were lifting the leaves from the ground in dancing whirls. Fortunately these were years of peace and for the first time in a long while the people were free of wars. The scheme to canalize the waterway to Romorantin had grown to a vast idea for making a thoroughfare of water from the Loire river all the way down France to Lyons and then into Italy! Leonardo, old and ailing as he was, had surveyed parts of the rivers Loire and Cher, braving the rough roads and crude accommodations.

In addition, Leonardo had designed a castle for Francis I’s widowed mother in Romorantin. This castle was never built, but many of the ideas that Leonardo had incorporated in its design were used in the gigantic and magnificent castle of Chambord. Also, at Francis’ request, he had reviewed the work being done at the castle in Blois and there is reason to think that the beautiful outside stairwell that spirals from left to right might have been designed by Leonardo.

In February of 1517, a son had been born to Queen Claude and Francis I. The king decided to postpone the baptism of the dauphin (the title given to the eldest son of a French King) until May of the following year. At that time there would be a double celebration at Amboise, for a nephew of Pope Leo X, the young Lorenzo de’ Medici, was being married to Madelaine d’Auvergne. As usual, Leonardo was given the assignment of preparing the festivities. Although he was fond of preparing these entertainments, Leonardo now felt the pressure of time; for indeed, the interruptions of this eager young king were sometimes a hardship. He felt that his years were drawing to an end. His notes were unfinished and his dreams of extending man’s knowledge of his world and of himself were hindered not only by such petty chores but also by the limits of his own physical endurance.

As Leonardo was sketching one day from the window of his room where he could see the castle walls and the chapel of Saint-Hubert, he set aside the drawing for a moment to write a memorandum to himself. “Write of the quality of time as distinct from its mathematical divisions.” Was this extraordinary man sensing the road down which Einstein—in his studies of relativity—was to travel hundreds of years later?