Work Text:
“Where the spirit does not work with the hand, there is no art”
Leonardo da Vinci
Touching the Arts
June 5, 1518, Château du Clos Lucé, Amboise, the Loire Valley, France
A foolhardy explorer by nature, the young Lady Anne Boleyn came to Château du Clos Lucé through the underground tunnel that connected it with Château de Amboise. At dawn, when all the members of Queen Claude’s household were sleeping, Anne had slipped away from the room she shared with her sister, Lady Mary Boleyn. It had been easy because her sister spent little time in their quarters since the King of France had taken Mary, enamored of him, to his bed.
Château du Clos Lucé
Anne’s youthful heart overflowed with dreams, most of them romantic about knights and tournaments, others wilder about her destiny to perpetrate something special for England. Since the Boleyn girls’ arrival in France, Anne had heard a great deal of good about Leonardo da Vinci, or Maestro da Vinci as he was addressed, and she desired to befriend this genius, who had chosen to accept the French monarch’s invitation and relocate to France from Italy in his later years.
Now she was finally close to the illustrious artist, tiptoeing across the hallway towards the room from where noise was coming. Anne had seen Leonardo at Château de Amboise, but she had never spoken to him because the artist was always at his patron’s side. At this moment, her feelings alternated between eagerness, fear, excitement, and exhilaration that she was in the same palace where the Maestro practiced his artistic magic, creating awesome works and inventions.
Opening the door, Anne peeped her head inside. Dim light filtered through the multi-colored windows, falling onto the most amazing painting Anne had ever seen. Not that she had seen many of them, to her enormous chagrin, although Archduchess Margaret of Austria liked paintings and had told Anne something interesting about them while she had lived at her court in Flanders. The painting stood upon the easel, decorated with diamonds woven in whimsical patterns.
She opened the door wider, her scrutiny glued to the painting. Anne saw a portrait of a woman whose figure was depicted in half-length, from the head to the waist, sitting in a chair, her arm resting on balusters. Her left arm rested on the arm of the chair, placed in front of a loggia, for there was the parapet behind her and the two fragmentary columns surrounding the figure and forming a window, overlooking the landscape – mountains, a misty lake, and a winding river.
“Does Mademoiselle Boleyn like it?” asked Leonardo da Vinci, surprised.
A terrified Anne shut the door behind herself. “I am so sorry for intruding.”
His expression welcoming and curious, Leonardo was seated in a comfortable chair, swathed in red velvet, in front of the painting. The shutters in this chamber were open, although the first rays of dawn tinged the horizon light pink. Anne examined the room: a large canopied bed, made out of dark mahogany and draped in burgundy velvet, a fireplace adorned with the Valois heraldry, and chairs upholstered in fine red velvet. A few more paintings were kept here, and on a mahogany table in the room’s center lay piles of drawings and sketches, executed in pink or black chalk.
The chamber of Leonardo da Vinci
“Why isn’t Mademoiselle sleeping at such an early hour?”
Her scrutiny veered to the artist. “And why are you not sleeping, Maestro?”
Leonardo howled with laughter. “Perhaps I cannot sleep without King François, my beloved patron and friend. I’ve grown so attached to him that I can hardly imagine my day without meeting with the greatest monarch who cares about the arts more than anyone else.”
His high assessment of the Valois ruler irked Anne. “He must be with my sister now.”
“You are too young to comprehend such intimate things and judge.” Looking Anne squarely in the eye, he quoted his own old saying, “Life without love is not life at all. Remember this, English Mademoiselle when your hour to meet your greatest love comes.”
Under the artist’s penetrating gaze, Anne felt almost naked, as if he could see everything through her, even read her most innermost thoughts. Instinctively, she touched her gown of blue, red, and black silk ornamented with onyxes and diamonds, wrapping her arms around herself. Then her hand fumbled for a single strand of pearls with a gold “B” pendant, hanging from the center, which was on her bosom, while three tear-drop pearls suspended from under the letter “B”.
At her twelve years, Anne was a tall, petite girl, who nevertheless was not the epitome of classical female beauty, unlike her sister. Her skin slightly swarthy, she had almond-shaped, black eyes that seemed to hide all secrets of the universe – bottomless pools of drama, danger, and something almost mystical. Her exotic, heart-shaped face, with small nose and full-lipped mouth, was framed with a cascade of raven tresses, covered with a gem-studded French hood.
“This necklace has become quite famous at the French court,” noted the Maestro. “With His Majesty, we speak not only about the arts and science, but also about love.”
Anne huffed, “It is a simple necklace.” She wondered whether François discussed with the painter not only his amorous escapades, one of them with Mary, but also Anne herself.
Leonardo gestured towards a nearby armchair. “I’ve been rather inhospitable, and I beg your pardon. Please, take a seat next to me so that we can together enjoy the Mona Lisa.”
The Mona Lisa (La Gioconda in Italian, La Joconde in French)
As she eased herself into it, her eyes flicked to the painting. “Ah!”
“I started this painting years ago in Florence around 1503. It is Madonna Lisa Gherardini, wife of a local cloth merchant – Francesco del Giocondo. Her alternative title, which I invented, is La Gioconda. When I departed from Italy, I didn’t leave it to the original commissioner because this work is too precious to me, and I’ll bequeath it only to my most devoted pupil.”
Her astounded brows shot up. “Not to King François?”
The artist smirked. “Even if my favorite pupil – Gian Giacomo Caprotti da Oreno, known as Salai – inherits it, His Majesty will definitely purchase it for his own private collection.”
There was a moment of silence when Anne studied the Mona Lisa closely. “She seems to be smiling regardless of which angle I am looking at her. How is that possible?”
He was impressed. “You are very observant. Do you like her smile?”
“Her enigmatic smile is so pleasing that it is more divine than human.”
“Indeed.” Leonardo plunged into remembrances of how he had created the Mona Lisa. “The combinations of special painting techniques give a brilliant and mysterious effect. The mastery of spatial geometry meanders towards the punto di fuga, or “vanishing point”. But it is more thanks to my new painting technique – sfumato – that makes her appear always smiling.”
Despite being well-educated for her age, Anne was confused. “What is it?”
“Sfumato is a sort of smoky softness over the composition. This technique does soften the transition between colors, mimicking an area beyond what the human eye sees.”
Anne inferred, “So, colors or tones are blended in such a subtle manner that there are no borders. That is incredible! This technique must create a hypnotic power on an audience.”
Leonardo genuinely liked the youngest Boleyn girl for her unparalleled intellect that he had seen at court. “And the Mona Lisa’s smile. What do you feel when you look at her?”
She examined the artwork. “This painting instils a sense of timeless beauty that resonates with the human spirit and almost lifts it into the eternal realm.” Anne lapsed into silence as she pondered. “There is also a sense of enigma, like a feeling of mystery and peril combined together, in which the elements and textures of the experience shift, slide, and recombine unpredictably.” She sighed. “I’ve heard from Queen Claude that her smile includes cryptic messages.”
“Her Majesty is exaggerating. There are no codes or anything of the sort concealed there.”
Portrait of Leonardo da Vinci attributed to Francesco Melzi
As Maestro da Vinci coughed for a few moments, Anne stared at him with worry. Dressed in black taffeta garments without any ornamentation, Leonardo was tall, but quite a sturdy man at his advancing age. His intelligent countenance was dominated with strong features, large grey blue eyes, high cheekbones, while his whole being radiated the light of enlightenment. The artist shoved his hand through his completely grizzled hair and then through his long, gray beard.
“Do you need something, Monsieur?” Anne’s voice was laced with concern.
Leonardo’s lips stretched into a smile. “No, my dear young and art-loving soul. I am an old man whose health is gradually declining, so sometimes I am overcome by cough and lassitude. I can no longer paint with my erstwhile masterful finesse, so King François has made me the court’s architect and is interested in my scientific and engineering projects. At times, I wonder why he invited me, a useless painter, to his magnificent court, for all I can do now is to draw sketches.”
A rush of pity towards him speared through Anne. “Why?”
He touched his left hand with his right one. “My left hand is paralyzed after a series of heart strokes I had in Italy. My right hand is still working, but I frequently experience pain.”
“I am so sorry, Maestro da Vinci.”
Leonardo boasted, “Still, I’ve managed to create something interesting. His Majesty wishes to have a new residence constructed at Romorantin, so I drew up designs for the castle boasting the large gardens with fountains and a network of intricate canals. I am not sure that this project will ever be launched, but some of my designs might be used during constructions of many future modern Italianate châteaux across France. King François is a grand builder!”
“I see.” Her attitude to the monarch was appalling because of her sister’s affair.
With a cryptic smile, the Maestro assessed, “Mademoiselle Boleyn, you have an art-loving soul, just as His Majesty has. The arts are the most majestic achievement of the human race, but they usually thrive only in times of peace. They are the greatest possible doorway to something that is itself a doorway to progress, but people do not understand that yet.”
A baffled Anne quizzed, “When will they comprehend it? And how?”
“Only minds interested in everything progressive and intellectual can realize that. Human imagination comes first, and from it springs creativity. Creativity is carefully nurtured and guided by tutors and better by subtle spirits similar to yours, and then it brings about innovation. These three elements, in that order, are the most effective new educational paradigm of the future, which humanity will not be able to fully realize and use to their benefit in many centuries to come.”
“King François admires you, especially your great mind, Monsieur da Vinci. I attended few feasts with Queen Claude, who spends most of her time in confinement, but I heard the monarch saying that you have the mind of a genius that is a rare thing to encounter on earth, and that he is lucky to have you in France. He respects you immensely, but does he understand these concepts?”
Leaning back in his seat, Leonardo smiled at the girl, for he liked her audacity and astuteness. Few would have dared ask such questions about a ruler. “King François is an art-loving and highly intelligent man, brought up in accordance with the best humanistic traditions of the past and the present. However, it is sometimes difficult for him to understand scientific models and terms, so I have to explain them at length. His Majesty has brought unprecedented enlightenment to France, and it will be his greatest legacy, although he will never fully grasp the concept of progress.”
Anne was satisfied that François didn’t know everything. “Very good.”
Leonardo parried, “You will not understand this concept fully either.”
Her face fell in disappointment. “When will people know it?”
The artist’s smile communicated uncertainty. “In centuries to come.”
One of the rooms in the château with paintings
“More paintings?” She would have gone to examine them, but her sense of tact prevented her from doing so. “Did you take them from Italy to France, Maestro da Vinci?”
“Of course.” Leonardo rubbed his beard. “I also brought with me my favorite ‘The Virgin and Child with St. Anne’ and ‘St. John the Baptist’ together with a lot of sketchbooks.”
All of a sudden, they heard the approaching footsteps echoing off the marble floor.
Spirits of enthusiasm awakened in Leonardo. “His Majesty, my friend, is coming!”
In contrast to him, Anne was both scared and embarrassed: bright red patches splashed across her cheeks and chin. “Oh… I shall not be able to leave, then. But maybe I can hide.”
The artist frowned at her. “It is not necessary! It is King François!”
“Nothing can be loved or hated unless it is first understood, Mademoiselle. You don’t know and don’t comprehend King François. You may not like his relations with your sister, about which everyone knows nowadays, but they are consensual, so don’t blame His Majesty for things he is not guilty of. Beyond a doubt truth bears the same relation to falsehood as light to darkness.”
His strict voice goaded her into firing back, “Depth and strength of a human character are defined by its moral reserves.” She had heard Queen Claude say this quote of Leonardo’s.
Leonardo applauded her. “What a brain and memory you have!”
The next moment, the door opened, and the monarch of France entered. “Leonardo!”
The artist bowed his head low in acknowledgement, but he didn’t rise from his seat.
Instantly, Anne bounced to her feet. “Your Majesty…” She curtsied deeply.
“Rise, Mademoiselle Boleyn.” François neared her. “Is it too early, isn’t it?”
Her scrutiny was downcast. “I wanted to meet with Monsieur da Vinci when nobody could disturb us. It is known at court that the Maestro wakes up early, usually at dawn.”
The king laughed facetiously. “Did you use my secret underground tunnel to get here?”
At last, Anne lifted her gaze to him. “Mary showed it to me.”
“Oh, Mary.” A glimmer of mirth danced in the ruler’s eyes. “I’ve been too frank with her.”
As the black pools locked with the king’s gaze, Anne felt hypnotized, as if a force far more colossal than nature was in control. Towering over others like a Titan, François was handsome with amber eyes, smart and amicable, his prominent cheekbones, and his oval countenance, the only imperfection of which was his long nose. Anne had never seen such a tall man before, and next to him, she felt small, so small, as though she could disappear into thin air for a while.
I understand why Mary fell for him, Anne told herself, still unable to tear her gaze away from the monarch. Clad in a beige brocade doublet, ornamented diamonds and sapphires, François wore hose of black velvet slashed with white silk. His thick mane of straight, chestnut hair was covered with an azure velvet toque, plumed with three white ostrich feathers. Over these garments, the king was attired in a beige mantle of cloth of gold, being the epitome of sheer magnificence.
After a moment’s pause, Anne garnered her courage. “I apologize for being here when Your Majesty has come to your favorite artist and architect for intellectual discourses.”
The ruler shook his head. “Never apologize for your natural predisposition to knowledge, Mademoiselle Boleyn.” His gaze shifted to the artist, and he quoted Leonardo, “Knowledge of the past and of the places of the earth is the ornament and food of the mind of man.”
Leonardo nodded at his patron, then moved his scrutiny to Anne. “Knowledge is the whole world. Our body is dependent on heaven and heaven on the spirit, but to study only scriptures and religious books will be far from what a superbly educated creature needs in life.”
François remarked, “Mademoiselle Boleyn studied many languages, mathematics, and even astronomy when she resided at Archduchess Margaret’s court at Mechelen.”
Anne scintillated with pride. “That is true, Your Majesty.”
“You will have a stellar education,” promised the monarch. “My wife, Claude, has already done enough, but my sister, Marguerite, will do more. Margot will take you under her wing and make you part of her intellectual circles. She will be in charge of your education from now on.”
“Thank you so much, Your Majesty.” Anne made another low curtsey. “I don’t deserve it!”
The king contradicted, “I believe that female intelligence is as valuable as male one.”
This was not what she had been taught in childhood, but she grinned jocundly. “Indeed.”
The King of France eyed the youngest Boleyn girl. She had caught his eye upon the arrival of the Boleyn sisters as part of Princess Mary Tudor’s retinue in France for her wedding with the deceased Louis XII. He had remembered Anne during her long sojourn in the Low Countries, having thought that she would have been a stunning ornament to his splendid court. When Anne had returned to France, François was elated, having found her grown up and quite alluring.
To his astonishment, François was drowning in an ocean of enigma as he peered deep into her eyes. Anne was not a typical beauty, but her exotic features were enticing, and her dark eyes only accentuated her attractiveness. In several years, the girl would be taller, but he wanted her to remain quite petite and yet become well-curved in special feminine places. Her sister Mary is a beauty who satisfies all my extravagant whims in bed, but Anne is too unconventional.
Breaking the silence, François pronounced, “Mademoiselle Boleyn, you are created by the Almighty for some special fate. Studies are the captain, and practice the soldiers. Learn as much as you can in France, and if it is God’s will, you will return to England a unique person.”
Flattered, Anne pledged, “I shall study very hard. And I love Madame Marguerite!”
The ruler’s breezy laugh boomed through the room. “La Marguerite des Marguerites adores you too.” He used the endearment that François had applied to his beloved sister in childhood.
With a shy smile, she requested, “Can I return to my rooms? Mary may be looking for me.”
François’ grin was knavish. “Yes, she is already there. Go to her!”
Her cheeks crimson from her growing anger, Anne lowered herself into a curtsey. Then she rushed to the door and exited, and soon her hurrying footsteps receded in the distance.
“A girl destined for greatness,” concluded Maestro da Vinci.
François settled himself into the same armchair Anne had occupied before. “I think so, too.”
Leonardo chuckled. “We spoke a lot about the Mona Lisa and the arts in general. Her heart, mind, soul, and eye are as sensitive, perceptive, and art-loving as Your Majesty’s are.”
The king crossed his long legs at the ankle. “I’ve never met a woman compatible with my nature. Only my mother and my sister are as remarkable as an abstract lady whom I would call my equal. Neither my wife nor anyone else is close to this, not even Madame de Foix.”
They beheld each other. The suggestion that Anne could be this woman remained unspoken, but they both had such thoughts. The monarch’s maîtresse-en-titre – Françoise de Foix, Countess de Châteaubriant – was gorgeous, excellently educated, and extremely erudite, but her overall qualities could not be compared to those of Marguerite de Valois and Louise de Savoy.
Leonardo prophesized, “When Mademoiselle Boleyn grows up, many men will be swept off their feet, but she will end up with someone far above her station.”
François concurred, “The artist sees what others can only glimpse. I see the same.”
A moment later, the Maestro and the King of France were already debating over the design of a double spiral staircase that the royal architects were going to implement in some palaces. Lisa Gherardini, or the Mona Lisa, was smiling at them from the painting, as if approving of their plans.
Château du Clos Lucé, the gardens