Henry S. Gillette PICTURES BY THE AUTHOR Franklin Watts, Inc., 575 Lexington Avenue New York 22, New York To my wife Trudy FIRST PRINTING Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 62-8426 Copyright © 1962 by Franklin Watts, Inc. Manufactured in the United States of America DESIGNED BY BERNARD KLEIN...

It is natural that, within the confines of these few pages, many facets of Leonardo’s extraordinary personality will be missing. That he was an artist, a man of letters, a poet and a philosopher are well known. That he was also a man of humor, as well as a prophet whose vision extended far beyond his times, are facts that I have also tried to include in this biography. There are many gaps in our knowledge of his life, and these I have sometimes filled with my own imagination to give some continu

Dusk was beginning to gather in the valley at the foot of Monte Albano as young Leonardo turned toward home. Stopping by a rushing stream to wash the dust of the day’s explorations from his face, he laid aside his cap and his leather pouch and plunged his hands into the cold mountain water. He felt the force of the current and watched the whirl and flow of bubbles around his bare arms. There was the same feeling, he thought, to the flow of air he had experienced blowing around the rocky crags of

The Italy of Medieval and Renaissance days was not a unified country as it is today. It was, of course, part of the Holy Roman Empire, but the main governing forces in the land were in the city-states, of which Florence was one of the most powerful. A city-state was much more than a city—it was almost a kingdom in itself. Each had its own army, and very often there were large-scale wars between such city-states as Milan, Naples, Rome, Venice—and of course Florence. The Italians of those days con

On Sunday, April 26, 1478, the bells of the cathedral were ringing loudly over Florence, almost drowning out the noise of the crowds in the street. Shutters were being thrown open and people were shouting excited questions at each other. Distantly at first, but growing in volume, was another sound—an ugly one—the sound of an approaching, angry mob. Leonardo, holding a roll of drawings closer under his arm, stopped and listened. Suddenly the questioning voices stopped. The bells continued ringing

The old monk spread the papers out before him on the table. “Master Leonardo,” he said, “these are the terms of the commission. We at the monastery wish to have an altarpiece painted for our chapel. Your father has recommended you, and, as you know, he is our lawyer. Of course your reputation has already reached our ears, and we are satisfied in our choice.” The year was 1480. The monk represented the monastery of San Donato a Scopeto near the Porta Romana, just outside Florence. Leonardo shook

Milan at this time was one of the greatest and wealthiest city-states in all Europe. Its battlements and the spires of its mighty cathedral rose impressively from the lush plain of Lombardy. Towering over the city in the distance were the snow-capped peaks of the Alps. Groves of mulberry trees for the production of its famous silk industry and vast stretches of rice paddies extended far into the surrounding countryside. Leonardo and Atalante rode along the embankment of one of the many canals. T

During this time, Leonardo had been struggling with the design for the bronze equestrian statue. Drawing after drawing lay scattered on his studio floor. Lately, however, a daring plan for this statue had come to him. It was to be a huge bronze warrior, Francesco Sforza, mounted on a rearing horse. Weighing perhaps a hundred thousand pounds, it was to be cast in sections in five furnaces—a fitting monument to the power of the Sforza family. But there still remained a big problem to be solved: ho

It was January of 1491, and a light snow had fallen in Milan, edging with white all the roofs, the massive spires of the cathedral and the red battlements of the Sforza castle. Soon Ludovico was to be married to Beatrice d’Este of the ducal house of Ferrara. Once more the streets of Milan echoed to the carpenters’ hammers. Messengers rode to and from the castle and endless carts full of provisions pushed through the crowded city. Guests began to arrive from all the allied courts of Italy with th

The noonday sun was baking the deserted streets of Milan as Leonardo hurried across the drawbridge of the castle. The guard dozing in the entrance arch started to his feet, but when he saw who it was he sat down again, muttering about a madman. Taking the shortest way, Leonardo arrived at the monastery gate and pulled on the bellcord. When the gate opened Leonardo brushed past the startled monk and made directly for the scaffolding in the refectory. He looked at his almost completed painting for

Leonardo, Pacioli, and Salai, the apprentice, arrived in Mantua in February of the year 1500. They were given refuge in the castle of Isabella d’Este, who was the sister of Beatrice, and the wife of Francesco Gonzaga, governor of Mantua. Isabella was one of the eminent women of her time and attracted to her court the intellectual life of Italy. In Leonardo she recognized the man of genius; indeed, she treated him as an equal, putting her castle at his disposal. She persuaded him to paint her por

Before Leonardo could return to the problem of flight, however, he was again faced with the necessity of supporting himself and his growing household. The small fees he received for taking on apprentices hardly covered the cost of housing and feeding them. Moreover, the equipment he had to buy for his scientific researches added further to his strained budget. So, when a servant from Francesco del Giocondo, a rich Florentine merchant, presented himself at the gate with the request that Leonardo

Leonardo felt his fifty-four years that spring day in 1506. The bitterness of his failures and the frustration of his dreams added considerably to the weight of his years. All morning he had wasted in argument with Soderini and the Signoria. If it had not been for the letter from Charles d’Amboise, Viceroy of the King of France for Milan, he would have felt like a beggar. Charles d’Amboise had been appointed military governor of Milan by Louis XII ever since the French had conquered that city an

“Name?” “Leonardo da Vinci.” “Where from and where are you staying?” “We are coming from Milan by way of Florence. I have quarters being prepared for me at the Belvedere in the Vatican—by order of the Pope. Now, young man, let us pass.” The guard at the Porta del Popolo changed his manner. He dropped his halberd and motioned to the other guards to let the riders through. He touched his helmet roughly and with a grin he said, “I’m sorry, Sire—but you know how it is. All these people—there’s bound

Leonardo looked around from where he was leaning on the parapet of the Chateau d’Amboise to watch a group of young lords and ladies playing croquet on the emerald-green lawn. The click of the mallets and balls was mingled with the shouts and laughter of the young people. It was late afternoon in May and although the sun was warm the breeze from the west was chilly. Leonardo looked down again from the sheer height of the castle wall across the wide sweep of the Loire river and the valley extendin

When Leonardo died his notebooks began their separate journeys into obscurity. They traveled to different lands and became parts of widely disparate collections. It has only been within the last fifty years that efforts were made to bring them all together between the covers of one volume—a dream that Leonardo himself entertained but never realized. As the manuscripts and drawings were brought to light, translated and published, the extraordinary scope of Leonardo’s scientific explorations was r