with the science of _statics_ (objects that are stationary), and
_dynamics_ (objects in motion). One of his most important discoveries in
the science of mechanics came about during this period. Concerning the
division of weight, he wrote, “There are three conditions of gravity of
which the one is its simple natural gravity, the second is its
accidental gravity, the third the friction produced by it. But the
natural weight is in itself unchangeable, the accidental which is joined
to it is of infinite force, and the friction varies according to the
places wherein it occurs, namely rough or smooth places.” Thus he
realized and formulated what composes the movement of an object. He
found that movement is the result of separate forces acting upon the
object from different directions, as for example, the initial push, the
pull of gravity and the resistance of friction. And, before Galileo,
Leonardo further experimented with objects dropped from a height. As the
result of repeated experiments, he noted that the fall was being
affected by the earth’s rotation. That is, the object dropped always
fell in a slight eastward direction rather than vertically downward—a
fact later proved conclusively by Isaac Newton and Robert Hooke in the
next century.
He also became fascinated with spiral motion, such as is found in a
spinning top or in a whirlpool of water. Because of his interest in
_hydrodynamics_, or the movement of water, he began to sketch imaginary
“Deluge compositions.” These were drawings showing the world—probably
inspired by the Bible—in a chaos of wind and floods. They were based on
his years of scientific research. Indeed, his drawings of actual
whirlpools are still among the greatest of his scientific art. Today,
with all the latest technical aids, such as dusting a whirlpool with
powdered rosin and then photographing it, an accurate three-dimensional
picture is impossible. Yet Leonardo, by sheer observation and analysis
coupled with his genius for drawing, could reproduce the complicated
shape of whirling water.
In the relatedness of his explorations of water, air and movement, and
weight, he worked out the similarity between the laws of equilibrium
controlling solids and liquids. The equation between the motive force
and resistance that makes for equilibrium or balance in solids can be
compared to the equation between the upward pressure of liquids and the
downward pressure exerted on them.
Far into the night Leonardo worked on his papers. He tired more easily
now, and his eyes had grown weaker. To provide the increase in light
that his failing eyesight demanded, he had improved on his original oil
lamp by making the wick rise as the oil was burned away, and he had
extra lamps fitted to the ceiling.
On January 9, 1515 Leonardo wrote in his notes, “Il Magnifico Giuliano
de’ Medici set out on the ninth day of January 1515 at daybreak from
Rome, to go and marry a wife in Savoy. And on that day came the news of
the death of the King of France (Louis XII).” This meant that his new
patron had left and his old patron had died. Leonardo’s note was a sad
one and perhaps he felt, in the departure of his patron, more alone than
ever in the crowded life of the Vatican. Giuliano, on the urging of his
brother, was marrying Philiberta of Savoy, in an effort to strengthen
the prestige of the Medici. Louis XII, before he died, had formed a
league against Spain, and with the marriage of the Pope’s brother to a
noble house of France, the league would be strengthened by keeping the
Pope on the side of France. Actually Pope Leo was playing both sides,
for at the time he was also friendly with Spain.
Shortly after Giuliano’s departure from Rome, Leonardo fell ill,
presumably from a mild heart attack complicated by a touch of malarial
fever. The doctor had been called. It was a warning, the doctor told
Francesco de’ Melzi, and Leonardo must remain quiet for quite awhile.
By the end of the winter Leonardo was back on his feet and apparently
feeling completely well again. Giuliano himself had fallen ill about the
same time and the news that he had recovered and was finally returning
to Rome cheered Leonardo. He sat down and wrote a long letter to his
patron expressing his joy. This letter also included a long list of
complaints against Georg and Johannes. Georg was now using his room in
Leonardo’s apartment to do work for others. He lied to Leonardo and flew
into such a rage when he was questioned that no one could go near him.
Moreover, Johannes, the mirror-maker, was now moving back into the
Vatican and turning out mirrors for everyone, even using Georg’s room as
his own workroom. Johannes boasted of his skill and told everybody that
Leonardo did not know what he was doing. Thus, it was not surprising
that Leonardo, in his long complaint, was taking out the anger and
frustration he felt against all the injustices of his life in Rome.
But by summer Leonardo was again employed as a military engineer.
Francis I had succeeded to the throne of France. The new French King was
anxious to secure his lost title to the Dukedom of Milan and was
preparing another invasion of Italy. Pope Leo X, still trying to play
both sides at once, was making secret agreements with Francis while at
the same time joining the King of Spain, Milan, Genoa, and the Swiss in
an alliance against France. Consequently, he sent Leonardo out to
inspect the fortifications of Civitavecchia, a city on the Tyrrhenian
coast not too far from Rome. When, in August, Francis I crossed into
Italy with an army of thirty-five thousand men including Marshal
Trivulzio, the Pope ordered his brother, Giuliano, to take command of
the papal forces. On the way to assume this command, Giuliano fell ill
and collapsed. His sickness this time was soon to be fatal.
Leonardo returned to Rome with his survey of Civitavecchia, where he
immediately learned of his patron’s latest illness. Perhaps realizing
that Giuliano was fatally ill, Leonardo made a desperate effort to gain
the recognition he felt should be his. He entered the competition for a
new façade of San Lorenzo in Florence. Among the other competitors was
Michelangelo, his younger and yet oldest rival.
In October of 1515, Francis I had recaptured Milan and by Christmas was
in Rome. Leonardo may have met the new King of France in Bologna where
Pope Leo X had personally traveled in order to settle a peace treaty
with France. Certainly it is known that he attended Francis’ court in
Rome. Leonardo’s name was well respected in French circles and, as
Francis had already admired the pictures by Leonardo, the meeting was a
happy occasion for them both. Indeed, the recognition that Leonardo had
sought in his native land was never as great as that accorded to him by
the French.
As Francis I prepared to leave for France in January he must have
offered Leonardo a position at his court. While he still hoped that
Giuliano de’ Medici would recover from his illness and return to Rome,
Francis’ offer gave him support in the knowledge that he had a powerful,
new friend.
March of 1516 brought the first of three events that were to change the
course of Leonardo’s last years. Giuliano de’ Medici died, leaving
Leonardo not only without a patron, but without a friend in the Vatican.
Now sixty-four years old, he was reluctant to leave his comfortable
quarters in the Belvedere with its workshop and pleasant gardens.
Besides, deep within himself, he felt that Rome could still offer him
the fame that had always escaped him.
Spring ripened into summer and the second event occurred. The
competition for the new façade of San Lorenzo in Florence was won by
Michelangelo. To Leonardo the news was a blow. The success of his old
rival weakened his position in the Vatican even further and added to the
growing hostility he had felt in the people surrounding the Pope.
The third event was the sum of many small events. Georg and his friend
Johannes, in their jealousy, had spread much gossip about Leonardo in
court circles. They now took advantage of Giuliano’s death to circulate
stories about Leonardo’s dissections of bodies in the hospital. These
were added to vicious gossip that Leonardo was pro-French. This news
eventually reached Pope Leo X. The Pope himself was perfectly aware of
the practice of dissection and, personally, he had turned his eyes the
other way. However, as dissection was contrary to Church doctrine, an
official complaint to the head of the Church could not be ignored. The
Pope used it as an excuse to be rid of this tiresome old man whom he had
tolerated only for his brother’s sake. Leonardo was abandoned.
The year 1516 was drawing to a close. Leonardo had decided to seek the
patronage offered him by Francis I. So he and Francesco de’ Melzi, his
loyal young friend, left Rome for the long journey into France. As he
left his native land for the last time, Leonardo looked back over his
years—from the silver lute that had sent him to Milan, to the death of
Giuliano, to the final rejection of Pope Leo X. Remembering how Lorenzo
de’ Medici had sent him to Ludovico so many years before, Leonardo
thought to himself with great sadness, “The Medici created and destroyed
me.”
13
_The Last Years_
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
extending as far as the eye could see. Swallows were swooping low over
the banks below and the wind carried their shrilling cries up to him.
The forested islands and sandbars interrupted the steady flow of the
river and Leonardo could see the reflections sway in the current. He had
been studying the river but he realized that his aging eyes were not up
to the task of concentrating for long. The wind made them water, so he
turned away and started back to his home.
There was much that was familiar in the castle at Amboise. The thick,
high walls and round towers and especially the graceful, lacy spires of
the king’s residence brought back much that he had known in his native
land. The gardens had been planted by Italians—there were orange trees
and even a mulberry tree from his beloved plains of Lombardy. The king’s
residence and chapel had been constructed and the decorations carved in
stone by Italian artisans. Leonardo could stop and talk in his native
tongue with many of the men employed by the king. Since the time of
Charles VIII, the French had brought in the latest Renaissance styles
from Italy. Leonardo’s steps took him back from the castle grounds and
down a path with a hand-railing. The steep roofs of the town of Amboise
with their chimneys could be seen below him. The path led to a small
manor house, like a miniature castle with sharp spires and lacy,
carved-stone gables that was set in green lawns and gravel paths.
The Manoir de Cloux, as Leonardo’s house was called, had been a hunting
lodge for Francis I, but when Leonardo had arrived he gave the house to
Leonardo for his home. Francis, in his admiration for this great man,
also gave him seven hundred crowns a year, together with a pension of
four hundred for Francesco de’ Melzi.
[Illustration: _Leonardo at Chateau d’Amboise on the Loire._]
The long journey from Rome had left Leonardo tired and weak and he had
fallen ill again shortly after his arrival. This time the attack was
more serious and had left him with his right hand permanently crippled.
He looked at it now as he opened the door to his room. “Another
warning,” he thought, “and there’s still so much to do.”
The young, robust King Francis was everywhere at once. He gloried in
knightly tournaments, hunts, and sports of all kinds. Always restless,
he might appear at any place unannounced. Frequently there would be a
clamor at the gates of Leonardo’s home and the king would ride in with
one or two of his nobles. With a great jingling of spurs he would bound
up the stairs of the manor house calling for Leonardo. He delighted in
long talks with the old man, and would listen respectfully as Leonardo,
his deep-set eyes brooding over his notes, would demonstrate some
scientific point on a blank sheet of paper.
At this time, Leonardo was engaged on three projects which demanded his
immediate attention. One was the entertainment for a banquet that
Francis was giving for his sister, Marguerite de Valois, and her
husband. Another was a new design for the king’s castle at Amboise, and
the third was a design for making a navigable waterway from Amboise to
Romorantin. Although these three projects were the main ones that
occupied Leonardo’s time, there was always the supervising of his
pupils’ painting on the walls in the little chapel of the manor house,
his own work on a painting of St. John the Baptist, and the continual
ordering and revising of his notes.
The banquet took place in October of 1517, and the mechanical lion
Leonardo had made was an immediate success. It “walked” by means of a
spring motor, into the hall, opening and closing its fierce mouth while
swaying its head from side to side. With a wand that he had been given,
Francis I stepped down from his seat and tapped the lion three times.
The toy fell apart and from it a cascade of white lilies poured out at
the king’s feet.
Also at this time there was a distinguished guest at the castle of
Amboise. He was a fellow-countryman of Leonardo and his name was
Cardinal Luigi d’Aragona. With him was his secretary Antonio de’ Beatis.
As Leonardo was now a famous member of King Francis’ court, the cardinal
paid him a visit accompanied by Antonio. The extraordinary anatomy
drawings and all his notes were shown to the cardinal; he and his
secretary were deeply impressed. They were also surprised to learn that
Leonardo had never been accorded the same recognition by his own
countrymen. Antonio de’ Beatis wrote home that “This gentleman has
written a treatise on anatomy, showing by illustrations the members,
muscles, nerves, veins, joints, intestines and whatever else is to
discuss in the bodies of men and women, in a way that has never yet been
done by anyone else. All this we have seen with our own eyes; and he
said that he had dissected more than thirty bodies, both of men and
women of all ages. He has also written of the nature of water, and of
divers machines, and of other matters which he has set down in an
endless number of volumes, all in the vulgar tongue [meaning Italian not
Latin], which, if they be published, will be profitable and delightful.”
By now Leonardo had accumulated thousands of pages of notes, and they
lay stacked in all manner of chests and boxes. Often now, as Leonardo
surveyed the work of his lifetime, he realized that he would never see
the day of their publication. Time was slipping through his fingers.
Already summer had come and gone and now the sharp winds of fall were
lifting the leaves from the ground in dancing whirls. Fortunately these
were years of peace and for the first time in a long while the people
were free of wars. The scheme to canalize the waterway to Romorantin had
grown to a vast idea for making a thoroughfare of water from the Loire
river all the way down France to Lyons and then into Italy! Leonardo,
old and ailing as he was, had surveyed parts of the rivers Loire and
Cher, braving the rough roads and crude accommodations.
In addition, Leonardo had designed a castle for Francis I’s widowed
mother in Romorantin. This castle was never built, but many of the ideas
that Leonardo had incorporated in its design were used in the gigantic
and magnificent castle of Chambord. Also, at Francis’ request, he had
reviewed the work being done at the castle in Blois and there is reason
to think that the beautiful outside stairwell that spirals from left to
right might have been designed by Leonardo.
In February of 1517, a son had been born to Queen Claude and Francis I.
The king decided to postpone the baptism of the dauphin (the title given
to the eldest son of a French King) until May of the following year. At
that time there would be a double celebration at Amboise, for a nephew
of Pope Leo X, the young Lorenzo de’ Medici, was being married to
Madelaine d’Auvergne. As usual, Leonardo was given the assignment of
preparing the festivities. Although he was fond of preparing these
entertainments, Leonardo now felt the pressure of time; for indeed, the
interruptions of this eager young king were sometimes a hardship. He
felt that his years were drawing to an end. His notes were unfinished
and his dreams of extending man’s knowledge of his world and of himself
were hindered not only by such petty chores but also by the limits of
his own physical endurance.
As Leonardo was sketching one day from the window of his room where he
could see the castle walls and the chapel of Saint-Hubert, he set aside
the drawing for a moment to write a memorandum to himself. “Write of the
quality of time as distinct from its mathematical divisions.” Was this
extraordinary man sensing the road down which Einstein—in his studies of
relativity—was to travel hundreds of years later?
Spring arrived again and with it came the first wild flowers and roses,
the songs of the birds in the woods and the blossoming of the chestnut
trees. The time for the double celebration came, too, and Leonardo was
seen busily preparing the decorations and mechanical delights for the
large crowds already assembling. In addition to the tournaments-at-arms
that so delighted the king, there was to be a mock battle with a
besieged city, and for this Leonardo had had constructed imposing castle
walls of wood with a backdrop of a city’s spires and towers. The party
lasted for weeks, and the climax was performed on the lawns of
Leonardo’s house where a great ballroom had been set up. Here he
repeated an earlier success, the one that had so enchanted Ludovico’s
guests so many years ago in the Sforza castle at Milan. There was again
a dome over the ballroom across which the stars moved mechanically and
artificial figures representing various gods and goddesses spoke and
sang by means of a hidden choir, while the sun and moon shone in their
own lights.
This display ended the festivities. It was already late June and
Leonardo was anxious to return to his plans for the water route to
Italy. There was the area near Sologne which, when flooded, would make
the surrounding countryside a marshland. This would have to be drained
by the same method as he had planned for the Piombino and the Pontine
marshes. Francis I was interested, too, in the improvements Leonardo had
suggested for his own castle, and he would have to talk with the castle
superintendent about them. As always, there seemed to be so many things
to do, to plan, to work on. Then Leonardo wrote in his notes: “On the
24th of June, the day of St. John, 1518, at Amboise, in the palace of
Cloux....” and underneath, “I will continue—”
“_I will continue_—” It was almost a note of defiance against the
obstacles of advancing age and sickness and the interruptions of the
practical world.
The sound of jingling spurs and bridle chains and the snorting of many
horses announced another surprise visit from the young king. Leonardo
could hear him below shouting something to Battista, the servant who had
come to Amboise with Leonardo. Now, as usual, Francis was running up the
stairs with all the energy of youth shouting for “le maître” (the
master). Resignedly and with patient humor, Leonardo stepped out to
greet the king. The gold chains around Francis’ thick neck and over his
broad chest glinted in the semi-light of the hall, and he was holding
his plumed hat at his side and mopping his forehead with a dainty
embroidered handkerchief.
“Master Leonardo! We are going on a tour of the river and I want you to
look at the place that I told you about. Where I want to put that
bridge. You remember?”
“Sire, give me but a moment to gather some material together.”
A chest was made ready and soon Leonardo was at the door, calling to
Francesco and Battista to help him into the saddle of his horse, while
the king’s servants hoisted the chest onto one of the carts already
piled high with tents and provisions.
When Francis was restless—which was often—a “tour” could mean many hours
or many days of travel. Wagons were always kept ready with all the
equipment for a long journey and Leonardo, himself, had learned to
accept these sudden whims and kept chests of his own ready for any such
trip. Now, as always, the king kept his horse reined back out of regard
for this tall, stooped man with the long beard and simple clothes.
Yet when Leonardo returned from this “tour” he realized that he could no
longer make such trips. The hardships of sleeping in tents, riding over
the hot roads, and the necessary work involved in surveying the possible
sites for a bridge had left him almost exhausted. He had made one
suggestion, however, and that was to build houses that could be carried
and then assembled with a few wooden locking devices, then just as
quickly taken down and moved to the next place. They could also be left
standing where the country people could use them while the court was
away. Indeed, such structures would seem to be the ancestors of our own
prefabricated houses.
The winter of 1519 was a bitter one. When the cold fog spread over the
valley shrouding the bare trees it chilled the big, white-washed rooms
of Cloux. The wind blew down from the north sending blasts down the
chimneys and scattering ashes and sparks. Leonardo, huddled against the
huge fireplace with its roof projecting into the room, pulled his black
cloak lined in soft leather around him and reminded himself to include
it in his will for Mathurine, the faithful domestic who cooked for him
and took care of his house.
The aged Leonardo, who had observed and analyzed so much of man and
nature, knew now that his own days were numbered. When the first, pale
sunlight of March shone through the small leaded-glass windows of his
house, he applied to the king for permission to make out his own will.
French law demanded that the property of any foreigner dying in France
went to the Crown. The permission was granted, and on April 23, 1519,
Guillaume Boureau, the Royal Notary of Amboise was summoned with
witnesses.
To his half-brothers in Florence Leonardo left his property at Fiesole
and four hundred ducats. To his faithful friend and companion, Francesco
de’ Melzi, nobleman of Milan, Leonardo willed his notes, drawings, and
paintings. Battista was given the income that Louis XII had granted
Leonardo from the tolls of the canal at San Cristoforo near Milan.
Mathurine was granted the “good black cloth, trimmed with leather” and
two ducats. Moreover, Leonardo outlined in detail the plans for his own
funeral, right down to the use of ten pounds of candles.
Too weak now to stand any more, Leonardo was confined to his big
four-poster bed with the canopy. From it he could see the tracery of the
Chapel of Saint-Hubert against the pale, foreign sky through the little
window in the corner. The vicar of the church of Saint-Denis was called,
with two priests and two Franciscan friars, and Leonardo received the
last sacraments at his bedside.
An entry in his notes reads, “While I thought I was learning to live, I
have been learning how to die.” But death was not easy for him. With
tears rolling down his sunken cheeks for “his wasted life,” he died on
May 2, 1519—fighting even this final interruption to all his work.
King Francis I, who was at St. Germain-en-Laye with his court, wept when
the news was brought to him. Francesco de’ Melzi was so overcome with
grief that he waited until June before writing to the half-brothers of
Leonardo of the Master’s death. He wrote, in part, “He was to me the
best of fathers, and it is impossible for me to express the grief that
his death has caused me. Until the day when my body is laid under the
ground, I shall experience perpetual sorrow, and not without reason, for
he daily showed me the most devoted and warmest affection.”