Enigma Variation
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ENIGMA VARIATION
SORRENTO, 1520 AD
Those haunting brown eyes, that same gentle smile. It was an older face
looking up at me, lined and weathered by years of exposure to the
relentless Mediterranean sun, the once rich chestnut hair shot with
streaks of silver. Despite thick eyebrows - where I remembered none -
and the blue chin stubble of a long night's sea fishing, it was
unquestionably the face of Leonardo's Mona Lisa.
"Signor, are you feeling unwell? You are so pale - here, come down
onto the deck, you must rest."
He gripped my arm firmly and I sank gratefully onto coiled ropes and
damp netting. The gentle, swaying motion of the little fishing boat
helped to calm my emotions. "You must excuse me, Signor Portini, I have
come so far in search of you that now that I have found you, I am quite
overwhelmed."
He looked puzzled. "You have the advantage, signor. You know my name
and seem to recognise my face, yet I am sure we have never met
before."
"My name is Henri Flavel, signor, court archivist to Francis, king of
France. I am also a devotee of the works of the late Leonardo da Vinci,
for whom I believe you once modelled."
"It is true that he is dead then. We had heard rumours."
I nodded, sadly. "Last year, in France."
"The news saddens me. He was a friend of yours, Signor Flavel?"
"Please, call me Henri. No, there it is your turn to have the
advantage. I never had the good fortune to meet him."
That smile again. "And I am Artura, Henri. Yes, I knew Leonardo for a
few short days, twenty years ago. Those days changed my life, but why
should they interest you?"
"Artura, we must talk. I have many questions to ask you."
"When you are rested, Henri, we will talk."
_ _ _
Later, sitting on the shaded terrace of Artura's little dwelling, its
sombre walls enlivened by festoons of dried red chillies, stringed
onions and fragrant herbs, we drank wine together and I told him of my
quest.
"As an authority on Leonardo's early works in Florence and Milan, I
was employed in the cataloguing of his paperwork after he died. Sifting
through the vast collection, it became evident that although inspired
with undeniable genius he had rarely carried work through to
completion. It was all half-finished sketches, mechanical figures and
reams of cryptic notes written in mirror image.
Indeed, one day King Francis heard me despairing that for all that
work, there were so few finished masterpieces for the world to marvel
at.
"You have obviously never visited my bathroom," said the king. He took
me there and showed me the painting gracing its walls. Artura, before
me I recognised the most divine, perfect work of art that the world
will ever know. The portrait of a woman with the demeanour of an angel
and the composure of a saint.
I gasped: "Those eyes! They are seeing everything. And such a mouth!
Your Highness, who is she?"
"She is called Mona Lisa, but I know not for certain who the subject
was," he said. "Even though I paid Leonardo 4000 gold pieces for her,
he refused to reveal her identity, saying that for posterity's sake it
was best left a mystery. I do know he painted her around the turn of
the century, when he worked for Cesare Borgia, and it is rumoured that
the model was possibly the wife of Francesco del Gicondo of
Florence."
Following my discovery I became obsessed with that image. In the
daytime, her face would swim before Leonardo's pages of notes and
figures, making it impossible for me to concentrate upon my work, and
at night those watchful eyes followed me into my most intimate dreams.
I had to identify that enigmatic figure and discover what lay behind
her mask of tranquillity, what haunted HER thoughts. I felt that the
world was entitled to know.
I travelled to Florence, where I gained an audience with Lisa
Gheradini, of whom King Francis had spoken. At first sight, I thought
that I had wasted my journey. It was obvious that she bore no facial
resemblance to the portrait whatsoever, and could not have done so even
in her youth.
But then, happily, she revealed that as a favour for her husband's old
friend, she posed for Leonardo on several occasions between the years
of 1500 and 1503, modelling for the arms and torso only; the portrait's
head having been in a state of semi completion at the time of her first
sitting. This head, he told her, evolved from detailed sketches made
during a visit to Sorrento taken between the time of his quitting Milan
and commencing his appointment in Florence.
By consulting his papers I found reference to this trip and the name
of the owner of the villa where he stayed and had a temporary studio.
So I journeyed here and further investigations have finally led me to
you."
Artura lay back, one finger absently stroking the stem of his
wineglass as he quietly absorbed my words. During my discourse a
pleasant, fresh-faced woman who settled herself on the arm of his chair
and was listening intently had joined him.
"It seems, Maria," he said, "that in France I am a famous
woman."
She gusted with laughter and patted his dark cheek playfully. "But why
not? You were such a pretty youth in those days."
"Please signor and signora, I beg that you treat this matter
seriously. Your answers to my questions may be of great artistic
significance."
"Forgive us, Henri. We take life as it comes down here, forgetting how
seriously you northerners consider matters. Ask your questions. I will
answer you honestly."
I raised my glass to him in acknowledgement. "Tell me about your first
encounter with Leonardo."
"It was the late summer of my eighteenth year. I lived with my widowed
mother in hill caves above the town, where we farmed goats. There was
little money, but we got by.
That particular afternoon was very hot and I was lying in the shade
daydreaming, when I should have been tending the animals. Suddenly I
was surprised by the sound of horses snorting and stamping the ground
on the roadway above me.
I opened my eyes and there was Leonardo staring down at me, a little as
you did, Henri, when you saw me on the quay. He was tall and athletic,
dressed in fine clothes and mounted on a magnificent black horse. He
was striking looking, although fairly ugly, with a big hooked nose and
deep set eyes. There was another man with him, young and fair, on a
grey horse.
Leonardo said that he had been captivated by my peaceful, smiling
expression. He asked me to sit for him at his friend's villa. I told
him that I could not leave the goats with only my mother to tend them.
By then she had joined us, to see what all the fuss was about. She
became irate, saying she knew about artists luring young boys away to
lives of debauchery in grand villas, leaving their mothers
destitute.
However, her moral objections began to fade the moment that a fee was
mentioned and by the time a figure was reached that met with her
approval, she would have parted with me to a slaughterhouse. But, God
rest her soul, she knew best, as only a mother does. That money enabled
me to buy my first fishing boat and better my life."
"At the villa - how did he work? What did you have to do?"
"It was odd. He would concentrate fully for minutes at a time on some
task, then suddenly abandon it for something else. He expected me to
sit for him at any time, night or day and still be able to produce
"that smile" (as he called it). It was difficult, but I kept thinking
of that boat of mine, and I managed it."
"But that first time he saw you, when you were daydreaming, what had
caused "that smile"?"
Artura laughed, put his arm around his wife's ample shoulder and gave
her an affectionate squeeze. "The previous night, beneath the stars and
olive trees I had lain with my Maria for the first time. I was still in
heaven, you see. Sorry Henri, but you asked for the truth. We are
simple people, not saints. We live, love, grow old and die without
ulterior motives."
"But those eyes following one's every movement. There must be a message
there, something Leonardo read in your thoughts."
"I hope not," said Artura, trying hard to keep a straight face. "For
the portrait must reflect that I was heeding my mother's parting words
to me."
"Which were?"
"She said "Artura, that Leonardo is paying you big lira, so I let him
draw you. But I've seen the way he looks at young men, so promise your
old mother that you keep your eye on him at all times!"
Leonardo was right, of course. The world of art is just not ready for
the truth.
END
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