Voices from the Past Part 85

Francesco is to destroy most of the military sketches and drawings because many are lifted from old books and ma.n.u.scripts. It was my intention to compile an encyclopedia of machines of all kinds.

1519

Cloux

January 3, 1519

I

am very tired after a long horseback ride. Francesco and I rode miles along the river-exploring. Where the ground became swampy we road through forest (the King's Forest), following vague roads and paths. Somewhere, in the thick of the woods, we roused an elk. The animal crashed into a ravine, and disappeared. We saw fox and squirrel, ravens, an owl. The bird was dumbwitted on a stump, too sleepy, too careless to fly. At a clearing we alarmed poachers who raced off, leaving their slaughtered buck, their bows and quivers beside it.

Tired of the thick shade and the monotony of old trees, we headed for Amboise, but soon found out that we were lost. It was a tedious ride before Francesco detected the sound of water; it was good to dismount and drink at the Loire.

Back in our saddles, we trotted along a sandy road, wide enough for a carriage. Cecchino began to sing and whistle. There was sunlight. Evening clouds built up a sunset. Presently we saw the hulk of Amboise in the distance.

So we began the new year!

"Bonne Annee!" Francesco yelled at the chateau walls.

January 7, 1519

BEATRICE D'ESTE-Painting Beatrice d'Este was troublesome because she seldom kept her sittings. She was moody, flighty. Her sallow features defied changes in light and shade. I wanted to impart a special quality to her portrait, a sense of youth, interest beyond the face itself. I tried animals in her arms, birds, flowers.

"You're too fussy, Leonard...all this bother...let's get the ugly thing finished! You don't remember that I'm busy. When I'm late, you fuss at me. Scowl. Tomorrow is the Spring Ball, yes, yes, it's tomorrow!" And she would babble on, in French, in Italian, stamp her foot, gesture, swear. Child-wife, she was child-model.

She felt I should concentrate on her favorite jewels, her rubies, her pearl snood, her diamond shoulder-pin!

"I insist," she would storm.

It was Boltraffio who painted her jewelry-when she was away from the studio.

"I hope the paint cracks on her jewels," he snorted, disliking her.

When she died, in '96, I tried to visit the Duke, to present the finished portrait. He refused to see me.

Inconsolable, I was told.

Beatrice was twenty-two or twenty-three when she died; she had been married to Ludovico for seven years.

Everyone said the Duke loved her profoundly. He also adored his mistress, Lucrezia. He also adored Cecilia.

Love, for Duke Ludovico, was living.

Inconsolable? How long was he inconsolable?

GINEVRA DE BENCI-I painted her in the autumn and painted autumn into her hair, painted it into the juniper trees in the background, in the dress she wore, in her eyes.

I was twenty-two!

She was a sickly person, cold; yet I admired her: she posed with patience, understanding my tedious brush strokes, praising my skill. A woman of scientific inclination, she had learned much from my friend Amerigo, her geographer father.

When I studied geography with Amerigo, at his home, she would appear from time to time, and I would try to memorize the contours of her face, the coloring of her skin in different lights, her bearing. I wanted to appreciate her personality.

Sometimes, in the studio, Ginevra would preach her father's ideas; I think she was trying to see how much I respected his concepts as cartographer. She could be rude, blunt. She tried to sail to the New World. She wanted to be the first woman to circ.u.mnavigate the world.

She thought I had no right to discourage her.

"You are no sailor... I have sailed more than you!"

In her boldness, she dictated changes in her father's maps. This was forty-five years ago, when some of us believed Virtutem Forma Decorat.

Cloux

January 10, 1519

CECILIA GALLERANI-It was totally different with Cecilia's portrait: the painting and the sittings went well.

As Ludovico's fourth or fifth mistress, she had learned artfulness: she was smiles, warm hands, long, slender fingers, warm embraces, kisses. Always in agreement.

Soft-voiced. Fond of poetry. Music. Enjoyed eating, sipping wine, walking, flowers. When we were in bed together, she knew how, when. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were small.

Ivory. Her body was compact, delightful. The shape of her skull was more to my liking than any woman's.

I like to think that all of my models are still alive...

Here is Cecilia's ermine, eating from his dish...he's very much alive...here he comes, trotting across the floor, jumping into her lap, cuddling, ready for another pose.