David (28 page)

So, either way, the statue that looked like me would usurp a bronze by Donatello. I could feel Angelo tensing when the bronze David was criticised. But the Herald had gone on to complain about the other one now, in which Judith was cutting off the head of Holofernes. I didn’t know the details but it was a story from the Bible. Still, old Francesco thought it an ill-omened piece.

‘It was placed there under an evil star,’ he said. ‘Ever since we took it from the palace of the de’ Medici, that emblem of unnatural death – the man killed by the woman – has brought us ill luck. We lost Pisa after all.’

(‘Is it more “natural” for men to kill women then?’ asked Angelo in a low voice. ‘The man knows less about art than the baker Gandini!’)

After a wood-carver had blethered on a bit, the painter Cosimo Rosselli got up and said he thought it should go on the steps of the cathedral! I thought Angelo would explode but then old Botticelli put in a word for the Duomo steps too – and placing Judith at the other corner. We had to take more seriously something proposed by Botticelli because he was still held in respect for his past achievements, and, although no one expected him to do much now he had painted a wonderful picture of the Nativity, which my brother had told me about.

But almost as soon as he’d mentioned the steps, he proposed the Loggia in the piazza instead!

This gave the older Sangallo brother his opportunity to jump in. He was polite about the Duomo suggestion but said he thought the Loggia would be far better, taking into account the survival of a marble statue standing exposed to the elements.

‘It would be better under the central arch of the Loggia,’ he said. ‘It should be under cover.’

Angelo grunted with satisfaction. So this was what he wanted.

After gaining Giuliano da Sangallo’s support, the Loggia option had a lot of voices in favour of it, but there was dispute about whether it should go in the central arch or closer to the Palazzo, which was what the Second Herald preferred.

And then Leonardo got up. There was a respectful hush.

‘I favour the position in the Loggia,’ he said. ‘But with this addition. The statue itself needs an addition – some decent ornament to befit the decorum of the solemn ceremonies the Signoria holds in the Loggia.’

My face burned and I could feel Angelo seething beside me.

(‘He wants to have you emasculated,’ he growled to me. ‘Or at least covered up and rendered harmless in the eyes of simpering young girls.’)

I didn’t like the thought of either and I especially didn’t like this suggestion coming from Leonardo! It made me feel dirty.

Then Salvestro, who was a worker in precious stones, said very sensibly that the sculptor’s own opinions should be listened to. For himself he favoured the position outside the Palazzo but ‘He who made it surely knows better than anyone the place best suited to the appearance and character of the figure.’

Filippino Lippi said virtually the same. I was fascinated to see him for Angelo had showed me some of his paintings. His father had been a great painter too and a monk but one who couldn’t keep the vow of chastity. It seemed as if the artists in the inquiry were shifting the balance in favour of the sculptor’s own views, which they knew very well were expressed in this formal setting by Sangallo.

But then Davide Ghirlandaio had to say his piece and he latched on to the idea put forward by an embroiderer. (‘An embroiderer, I ask you!’ said Angelo. ‘Maybe he wants to make you a pretty skirt to hide your nakedness with “decent ornament” – fool of a man.’)

The foolish embroiderer had suggested taking down Donatello’s marble lion, known as the Marzocco, and putting David in its place in front of the Palazzo. Ghirlandaio called it ‘the most worthy place of all’.

(‘He doesn’t think that for a moment,’ said Angelo. ‘He just knows it isn’t the place I want. The Ghirlandaio brothers haven’t forgiven me for leaving Domenico’s workshop when I was thirteen! He’s just saying that to spite me.’)

The meeting droned on with no one having anything new to add. Antonio da Sangallo said, with great tact, that he would have favoured the Palazzo position if it had not been for the delicate nature of the marble. One of the Signoria musicians said it would be easier to attack the statue with a stave if it were in the Loggia and that made me very uneasy. I wasn’t the only person in the room dressed as a de’ Medici supporter; our black clothes marked us out as still in mourning for Piero and I didn’t want any of the conspirators to be given ideas about damaging the statue. I knew that they already regarded it as a hateful symbol of the Republic.

Piero di Cosimo, another painter, had the last word, agreeing with the Sangallos and saying again that the sculptor’s own opinion was the most important one to be consulted.

As the meeting broke up, I asked Angelo if he thought it had gone well.

‘As well as can be expected,’ he grunted, ‘when they consult people who know nothing of marble or chisels. They should have got a group of
scalpellini
like you to come from the quarry in Settignano and give their opinion.’

‘But the Sangallos did well,’ I said. ‘They were backing your ideas, weren’t they?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’d like to see my David in the central arch of the Loggia, gleaming out white against the darkness.’

‘And that’s what most people at the meeting thought,’ I said. ‘Even Leonardo.’

‘Leonardo!’ he said. ‘He wants him to wear a modesty garment!’

He seemed more annoyed by that than by anything else that had been said. And I agreed with him.

‘Mark my words, Gabriele,’ he said. ‘Just because it seems to have been decided, that doesn’t mean a thing. The real decision will be made behind closed doors. But the Sangallos did their best. Let’s find them and buy them a drink.’

Next day after work I made my way to del Giocondo’s house in the Via della Stufa. It was a few months since I had seen the portrait of his wife and I had a strong urge to know how it was progressing. This time I had no commission from the Buonarroti brothers; I was just curious to see the painting, which had caused quite a stir in the city already.

Giocondo himself welcomed me warmly enough and even said, ‘I think you know my wife’s cousin?’

The recorder-playing Gherardo was there again, entertaining Lisa as before. I had struck lucky to find Leonardo at work so late in the evening and without Salai or any other of his hangers-on.

‘Welcome, Gabriele,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Come to see the picture of Monna Lisa?’

It was glorious. He had captured a quality in the sitter that would have been easy to overlook. Truthfully, she wasn’t as lovely as Gandini the baker’s wife but she had a restful presence – I can’t explain it any other way – that had nothing to do with any of her features nor yet her figure.

She was past her first youth and had borne several children but was not yet quite matronly. Yet she radiated tranquillity, sitting still as one of Angelo’s marbles while the painter corrected something he felt he had not got quite right about her face. She acknowledged my presence with the slightest possible widening of her eyes and intensifying of her smile. I was spellbound.

She inspired no desire in my admittedly lustful younger self – just a deep sense of peace in her presence, which had been given by her to the portrait but was now given back to her a hundred-fold by Leonardo’s art for anyone who had been fortunate enough to see his depiction of her. He had enabled me to see that within her which he saw himself. Her husband would be delighted with the portrait.

‘It is wonderful,’ I said to the painter who had been watching, amused, while my eyes had travelled again and again from the canvas to the sitter and back again. ‘I don’t know how to express myself,
maestro
, in words that would mean anything to someone with your genius. But you have made me see not Monna Lisa herself, although that itself is a gift, but – how may I say it without seeming to presume? – something of the quality of womanhood itself.’

I stopped, feeling that I had made a poor job of expressing my admiration for all three – the woman, the portrait and the artist.

And in my confusion, I did feel desire – something more overwhelming than I had ever experienced before, even in the presence of Angelo’s great works. I wanted to own something so beautiful for myself – though whether it was the woman or her picture I couldn’t have said – to clasp this vision of the eternal in my own mortal grasp. In fact, I think that was the first time I saw myself as mortal, like other men, in the presence of something as enduring as a great work of art.

Then Gherardo made a bad note on his recorder because, I’m sure, he was so amused by my awkwardness, and the moment passed. Monna Lisa’s smile turned to laughter and she looked like an ordinary woman again.

‘We shall take a break,’ said Leonardo and the hospitable housewife bustled off to organise some refreshment for us all.

But I had learned something that day that I never forgot – that a true artist can see the spark of the divine in each human soul and not just see it but render it in such a way that others can see it too.

Leonardo sensed my mood – he was a very sensitive man, for all that he had companions like the coarse-natured Salai – and he waited till I had recovered my composure before speaking to me. Gherardo had gone with Monna Lisa.

‘You were at the
practica
with your master,’ he said eventually.

I nodded. ‘It will be a great day when the statue is revealed,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to see it in all its glory. All Florence has been speaking of it since the day of the public viewing.’

‘As they have of your portrait,’ I said. ‘The city is blessed to have two such great works created in it at the same time.’

I no longer thought that the painting looked like Salai’s face but there was still something underlying the features that suggested the beautiful young man. Was it something the painter had seen in del Giocondo’s wife reminding him of that beloved young man that had made him accept the commission? Or had he superimposed the admired features on another because of his infatuation?

I remembered the Madonna with my face and felt uneasy. I would look closely at Monna Lisa when she came back to scrutinise her for any signs of a resemblance to the little devil.

‘If I owned such a painting,’ I said, ‘I would keep it close to me till I died and even then I would hope to see it again in heaven.’

Leonardo laughed. ‘You are a poet, Gabriele! Truly you have a mind as fair and open as your face. I should love to draw you.’

But then he looked thoughtful to the point of sadness. ‘I am close to this painting myself. It will be hard to part with it when the time comes.’

I remembered Angelo’s words then: ‘If del Giocondo ever gets that, I’ll eat my boots.’

But Leonardo had changed mood again and now looked at me intently.

‘You are in some danger, I think.’

Was he a seer or soothsayer?

‘There was a lot of talk after the
practica
,’ he said. ‘Not all of it very discreet. Soderini has been boasting of how the David will be seen for what it is – a symbol of the Republic – and the de’ Medici supporters don’t like it.’

That I knew already.

‘I know you move in their circles,’ he said. ‘And are for the moment their blue-eyed boy. But let them once guess that you are not what you seem and you will see that they will take their revenge – not just on you but on the statue.’

And after what had passed between us in the last hour I knew that we both understood which would be the greater tragedy.