The Florentine Emerald: The Secret of the Convert's Ring

by Agustín Bernaldo Palatchi

  There are as many worlds as there are different ways of seeing things, and one of the most original and perspicacious viewpoints was that of his friend Leonardo da Vinci—a man of such outstanding genius that he had even been recognized as a prophet in his own land. After the downfall of his protectors, the Sforza in Milan, Leonardo had returned to his native city after a brief stay in Mantua and Venice. Many Florentines considered him to be an extravagant and capricious person, but they were all equally proud that the masterly artist, at the pinnacle of his fame after painting his extraordinary Last Supper, now resided once again in Florence.

  In the past, Mauricio had spent many hours with the maestro, observing in silence the geometrical patterns of San Miniato, Leonardo’s favorite church. On one occasion he had remarked in a very low voice as he contemplated the circular patterns that seemed to move like ripples in the water, if one spent long enough staring at them, “Do you know, Mauricio? The only true realist is the one who never dismisses the impossible.”

  Mauricio harbored an impossible wish. But now that Leonardo had returned to Florence, he had the opportunity, however remote, that his long-coveted project might become a reality. Why not try and make it come true?

  138

  Florence

  May 1, 1500

  “No other church pleases me as much as San Miniato,” said Leonardo da Vinci as they came out.

  Mauricio smiled, enjoying the wooded grounds and the magnificent view of the city seen from the embankment on which the church had been erected. Reaching San Miniato required enthusiasm and feet accustomed to steep climbing, for the church stood high up on one of the many hills surrounding Florence. Possibly such a hot day might have dissuaded many people from the climb, but not his friend Leonardo, who delighted in walking and enjoying nature.

  “Certainly,” Mauricio said, “the peace up here, far away from the city hubbub, is quite extraordinary. But what are truly extraordinary are those geometrical drawings of circles, squares, and triangles that decorate the church.”

  “Have you noticed that everything is laid out in such a way as to provoke dizzying optical perspectives?” asked Leonardo. “Wherever your gaze falls, your eyes plunge into visual tunnels or in creative explosions that start off very small and then expand until they reach infinity. It is certainly not the result of chance, neither are the few Christian paintings in this temple, which on first inspection seem like daubings and are quite different from the rest of the decoration.”

  Mauricio looked at Leonardo with profound respect. Eighteen years earlier, he had left Florence as a young, promising artist, both original and unpredictable, and now he had returned from Milan a maestro, admired by all. He might have lost that first bloom of youth, but he was still handsome, tall, and well proportioned. He continued wearing his curly hair long and his eyes had that observant look women seemed to possess more than men. His face had matured and conferred a more virile appearance, which was also enhanced by a carefully trimmed beard, another new feature. As for the rest, his way of dressing hardly differed from the Leonardo whom Mauricio had known in the days of Lorenzo de Medici: a pink tunic of the most delicate linen, now reaching his ankles instead of stopping at the knees, shoes in the very best Cordovan leather, and jasper rings adorning his fingers.

  “You have only just returned to the city which saw you grow up,” said Mauricio, “and I feel truly privileged to have the opportunity to share these few hours with you. It is not in vain that these days, you are the one who everyone wants to be seen with. And yet, not that long ago, when Girolamo Savonarola dominated Florence, the majority of those who now adulate you would have rejected your friendship. Were you aware that the Dominicans of San Marcos requisitioned the drawing you gave me in Milan to then burn it in the Piazza della Signoria? They were convinced that your aversion toward the church impregnated that sketch of the Virgin of the Rocks, although they were unable to prove anything. I must confess to you, I even started feeling that they might accuse me of apostasy by the mere fact of having that drawing of yours hanging in my study.”

  “And did you want to know if my paintings reflected a somewhat different outlook from the one advocated by the Holy Mother Church?” asked Leonardo, smiling ironically.

  “Of course, I have spent a lot of time thinking about that painting and could not avoid relating it to certain rumors circulating about you. Nevertheless, I do understand if you prefer not to discuss it. Some things are best left unsaid.”

  Leonardo laughed easily before continuing.

  “Maybe you believe all that slanderous talk about me making pacts with the devil and practicing black magic? I, who as you well know, have always sneered at soothsayers, quack doctors, and all the rest of those devotees of deceit.”

  “Not exactly,” replied Mauricio. “I am talking more about the way that it is somewhat unclear in the painting who is Jesus and who is Saint John the Baptist, seeing as both are twins. Knowing you, and aware that you always depict Saint John raising his right-hand index finger, I deduced that it was he who was in the dominant role and is blessing the infant Jesus. If that were so, it is not exactly orthodox.”

  “That observation of yours is very interesting, but quite impossible to demonstrate. And even if it were proven, no inquisitor could ever say anything, for it was Saint John himself who baptized Jesus in the River Jordan, therefore it would hardly be heresy had he blessed Him when they were small.”

  “That is the same as I thought,” agreed Mauricio. “However … ”

  “However …,” continued Leonardo, “you want to get to the bottom of the matter, instead of hovering on the edge like those brave monks of San Marcos. Am I right? You pointed out earlier that there are certain things best left unsaid. Well, today, I am going to make an exception. Because of our old friendship, because of all those iconoclastic conversations we used to have with Lorenzo Il Magnifico, and old Ficino, because you never allowed yourself to be swept up by Savonarola’s fundamentalist fever, unlike Sandro Botticelli and so many others who changed sides like flimsy leaves blown by the wind, and lastly because I liked everything you told me about your life. All these are sufficient reasons for me to confide in you. The truth is, I rarely get the opportunity to speak frankly all that often.”

  Mauricio waited expectantly for his explanations as Leonardo gazed at the woods surrounding the hills, seeming to consult them about what he could reveal and what was best not to mention.

  “In the same way as you were,” Leonardo continued, “I was brought up as a Catholic. This is something that marks one deeply, it gets into your bones and always remains part of you in one way or another. Yet, as a young man I discovered that the church of the popes and I were incompatible.”

  “Why is that?” enquired Mauricio.

  “As you no doubt are aware, I am a homosexual. As far back as I can remember, I have had erotic fantasies involving men, never women. This is not something one can choose or fight against. Logically, I tried at first to combat these thoughts that seemed perverse to me. However, I, the great Leonardo, found myself incapable of achieving this. Time and time again I bit the dust, wallowing in my impure desires. In much the same way as a river that is held back by a weak dam ends by smashing all obstacles and pushed by the current, bursts forth with the irresistible force of nature. Of course I felt guilty, as I was betraying Jesus Christ and condemning my soul to burn in hell. Later on, when my reasoning became more lucid, I concluded that no God could exist so miserable as to fill my soul with uncontrollable desires and then get his revenge by making me endure cruel tortures for the rest of eternity. If I, who am only a mere man, would never condemn anyone to such lasting tortures, how could a God do so, who according to Jesus Christ is pure love? It was then that I experienced my first religious doubt: was the church doctrine incompatible with the message of love transmitted by Jesus Christ?

  The same question had been asked by many people long before me. Christians who do not believe in the infallibility of such cor
rupt and depraved popes as the Borgia now occupying the throne of Saint Peter. People who have weighed up the danger of openly dissenting with the church’s official doctrine. For this reason, and for many centuries now, concealed behind the cult of Saint John, lies a secret that is a different way of approaching Christianity. Have you ever asked yourself why the first nine Knights Templar went to Jerusalem and initiated their journey in the Octagonal Temple of Solomon? Our baptistery, here in Florence, is also octagonal and it is not by chance that it is dedicated to Saint John the Baptist. And does it not mean anything to you, that when they arrested the Knights Templar, they were accused of worshipping a severed head?”

  Mauricio knew perfectly the story of how Saint John the Baptist had been beheaded at the behest of the beautiful Salome, although it had never occurred to him to relate this with the Templars. It dawned on him now that there were nine Knights Templar who had founded the order in Jerusalem, and nine were the years they spent in the thrice sainted city before returning to the continent of Europe. Dante Alighieri was a staunch defender of the Templars and nine was his favorite number, for it contained three times three.

  “History,” continued Leonardo, “is a complex puzzle that is impossible to understand without laboriously fitting all the pieces together, and not only those of the present, but also those of the past with the future or vice versa … To come back to the theme we were discussing, you only have to see that in certain circles, the figure of Saint John has been used to represent the original teachings of Jesus Christ, much as they were understood by the first Christians. According to this tradition, the decisive element is being able to truly communicate with Christ and find within ourselves wisdom and love, something that nobody, not even the pope of Rome, can do for us. Many of them put Saint John the Baptist on the same level as the other Saint John, the Evangelist, whose gospel is Gnostic in essence. For this reason, the most beloved disciple was also the one most favored by the Cathars, who were accustomed to carry his gospel in the leather bag with which they travelled. It is also the reason that in my painting, The Last Supper, I have depicted Saint John’s head as if it had been severed by the hand of Saint Peter. Graphically, this means that the church of Saint Peter cut the head off Jesus Christ’s vision, in other words, the blood of his teachings. It is all there, plain to see, but nothing can be demonstrated and in this way I avoid the grave risk of being accused of heresy before the Inquisition.”

  “There are many followers of Christ,” reflected Mauricio, “who do not recognize the pope’s authority and whose spiritual vision differs from that which is practiced by the church. Dante Alighieri himself belonged to the fedeli d’amore and admired the Templars, reviled the pope for his lack of piety, the church for being corrupt, and never hesitated to put down in writing his extremely personal visions concerning the Christian mystery. Visions that were both profound and deeply mystical, as metaphorical as they were beautiful. In that way we could say he was a Gnostic like the Cathars and … maybe you …?”

  “One could say that I am a Gnostic in the sense that I only believe in what I am able to experience. I dislike forming part of the herd, like a sheep, and I identify more with the solitary lion who manages to reign over his own territory. It is certainly not easy to separate oneself from the flock and the price that has to be paid is very high: constant solitude, however many people are around me, and even on occasion the threat of insanity.”

  “I can understand the solitude of the eagle, but do not talk to me of madness. We all know that you possess one of the most brilliant minds in the world as we know it.”

  “What if I were to tell you that I have seen other worlds? Would you brand me then as a madman? And if I had seen a world where men flew through the air on flying machines, submerged themselves into the depths of the oceans with waterproof ships, and sped across land on automatic machines with wheels? Would you have doubts then, as I have doubted, about my mental health?”

  “I would think rather that you had experienced some incredible dream, a dream that could only be within the reach of a great creator such as yourself.”

  “And what if life is a dream of a superior reality? What is dream and what is reality? The bridge separating genius from madness is not only narrow but fragile. From what you have told me, your conscience has also contemplated realities other than those we normally experience. Many mystics from different eras and places have had similar perceptions. On some occasions, the church has hailed them as saints and on others they have been condemned as being possessed by evil forces. As ever, we are walking on a knife’s edge. Well yes, in my case I have had a glimpse of the future. At first I thought they were hallucinations produced by my overactive imagination. After that though, when I realized that my mind continued to function normally, I understood that these could be visions of another world, different from our own. Now, I am convinced that I have access to images of our future. I know this seems impossible, but when they come over me they are just as real as that cypress tree we can see over there, or that skylark just taking flight. That is why, lately, I have lost all desire to paint, as my mind is bubbling over with visions of prodigious machines, invented by men of the future. I, Leonardo da Vinci, have seen them. Another question is whether I am capable of designing them to work now, in this era. That is my challenge, my friend. That is why now, mathematics and nuts and bolts attract me more than paint brushes. Can there truly be any loftier mission in life than to transfer the future into the present?”

  Mauricio stared at the respected maestro in awe. Flying machines, boats that went under the water, vehicles moving across land without being pulled by animals … Visions of the future … Had he not as well had a mad vision of the future? Had he not envisioned himself as an entity of light making its way across the cosmos, going through multiple experiences? Curiosity and fascination for Leonardo’s words were more powerful than limited reason.

  “What other things have you seen, Leonardo?”

  “Terrible things, Mauricio. Awful wars in which millions of people die, the same intolerance as now but camouflaged under a thousand different guises, anguish, desperation, hate … Joy as well though, hope, love, tolerance, enthusiasm, wisdom … It seems that Pico della Mirandola was right when he used to say that of all creatures, man is the only one not to be bound by any limitations whatsoever, to such an extent that according to his own free will, he is as capable of rising higher than the angels as he is to plunge into chasms even deeper than those inhabited by demons.”

  Mauricio contemplated all Leonardo had told him. Not only was he a genius when he painted, but an equally brilliant engineer, sculptor, musician, choreographer, and inventor … Without doubt a colossus, towering far above the flat valleys that surrounded him. And yet, he was also an enigma, full of the most surprising contradictions. Leonardo did not touch meat and only dressed in clothes of linen, believing that the slaughter of animals was a crime. Despite this, he had shown no compunction in designing innovative war machines for the Duke of Milan. Was it compatible then to have scruples about cutting up the flesh of an animal and yet at the same time be the mind behind artefacts designed to massacre human beings? As if he were reading his mind, Leonardo continued reflecting aloud.

  “If I observe myself, I have come to a conclusion that differs slightly from that of Pico della Mirandola. We are both angels and demons at the same time. It is inscribed in our nature. That is why we are so contradictory, for our own flesh is the battlefield where our opposites intermingle. Yes, I myself am a prey to the most extreme contradictions and with my wings I glide over both the territories of heaven and hell with identical curiosity. Therefore, in the morning, I might be an angel, yet after a while become a demon. Should we find this strange? Did not Adam and Eve, our parents, eat from the tree of good and evil? How can we deny therefore our own nature if we are the fruit of their seed? And yet, I do share with Pico the idea that we can transcend our own dual natures in order to reach different places to those which hav
e already been trodden upon by angels and demons. Perhaps our own difficulties will spur us on to reach heights that today we cannot yet even perceive. My personal experience shows me that placid happiness can only provoke indolence, whereas problems demand that we summon up the best out of ourselves which forces us to evolve.

  When I read Genesis, I imagine Adam and Eve living a pleasant and routine life, a life in which every day is much the same as the one before. The serpent put an end to all that, feeding us all with its poison. Paradoxically, poison can kill or cure. It depends entirely on the quantity. Very well, so man in the future will have at his disposal sufficient poison to annihilate the whole of humankind, but also enough knowledge to transform it into the best medicine. I think God envisaged that last possibility when he let the serpent tempt our parents. Ever since then He awaits the day when, being able to fly higher than the angels, we discover new heavens.”

  Mauricio was pleased that despite following different routes, he and Leonardo had reached similar conclusions. Or had he not also glimpsed that throughout human existence, a superior conscience was capable of crossing the waters in which it found itself stagnating and, much like Columbus, reach a new world? Had Lucifer’s rebellion perhaps been allowed as part of an experiment in which, under the most adverse conditions, the most innovative spirits could be freely forged? None of these questions had an answer, for life is as mysterious as death, but Mauricio wanted to ask Leonardo a question that he could either answer with a yes or a no. Although he knew perfectly well that in nearly all probability the answer would be in the negative, he still wanted to try. What if a yes were to come from Leonardo’s lips?