Enigma variation

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