XVIII. Leonardo da Vinci.

"Here time has been more unsparing than is his wont- -a shadow is all that remains of this once great work." So wrote Sir David Wilkie concerning "The Last Supper," whilst on a visit to Milan, during the Austrian domination of Lombardy. Already in 1585 a celebrated Italian mourned it as "utterly ruined." And yet Leonardo's masterpiece is still second to none among the attractions of Northern Italy. To thousands of visitors it affords a higher pleasure than the great Cathedral itself. But few paintings have been so voluminously written about; through the agency of the engraver's art none are more familiar to the inhabitants, rich and poor, lettered and unlettered, of two continents. Wherever Christianity has been successfully introduced, there this truly Christian work of art has become known. Countless and more or less perfect reproductions have made it the common property of a civilized world. A few words concerning the artist himself, by way of preface to a consideration of his greatest work.

In 1452 Ser Piero da Vinci, a notary of the Florentine republic, lived in his

little castle near the Fucecchio Lake, and here Leonardo was born. Although the natural son of his father, he was nevertheless treated with the most affectionate kindness by Piero's successive wives, four in number. Early in life he gave evidence of superior talents, and the surroundings of his childhood were calculated to foster and develop his artistic instincts. At first, indeed, he seemed devoted to the natural sciences. Especially in mathematics did he come to be regarded as a prodigy. Physics was his delight. The record of his numerous inventions betray the daring originality of his lionlike spirit. On the lute and guitar he was no ordinary performer, and his improvisations, both words and accompaniment, are said to have been of the first order of excellence. But during all these years his artistic genius in the direction in which he afterwards achieved his greatest triumph was not wholly dormant. "Almost from his infancy," says one of his biographers, "Leonardo had been familiar with the use of the pencil, and he frequently turned aside from the drudgery of mathematics to amuse himself by drawing. The same paper which held his columns of figures and lettered angles was adorned with simple bits of landscape or quaint little caricatures. At last these sketches attracted such attention that Ser Piero carried several of them to his friend, Andrea Verocchio, a famous artist of Florence, who was amazed at their originality, and strongly advised that the youth should become a painter."

In 1470 Leonardo began his studies under the direction of Verocchio. He made such rapid progress that he soon distanced his master. His earliest efforts are distinguished by their fidelity to nature. It is questionable whether he would not have been a better artist had he idealized more, but all are agreed in commending his careful attention to details and wonderful accuracy of portrayal. He was in the habit of attending the execution of criminals, in order to watch their contortions and the agonies of death. Thus he may be said to have realized, in a measure, the desire of Parhassius "to paint a dying groan." Socially Leonardo was in great and constant de nand. His varied

accomplishments won for him the admiration of all classes. "Clearly," says Sweetser, a youth who was beautiful on the promenade, maguificent on horseback, and terrible with the sword, had the best of credentials to the fair ladies of the city, who were moreover charmed by his beauty, his poetry and music, and his graceful dancing. He was sought at all the balls and promenades, the riding parties in the vale of Arno, and the musical entertainments; and such were his powers of fascination that he was called the magician. His contemporaries say that he was the handsomest of men, and his rich costumes were always in keeping with his personal presence.'

But the great Lorenzo de Medici, the noble art-patron of Florence, did not seem to take kindly to the versatile Leonardo. Chafing under this neglect, he addressed himself to the Regent of Milan, and not without success. His fame had preceded him; his offer of services in whatever direction these might be desired, insured his welcome to the pleasure-loving Milanese court. His arrival in 1481 called forth the following lines from the city's poetlaureate:

"Like bees to hive, here flocks each learned

sage;

With all that's good and great the court is thronged;

From Florence fair hath an Apelles come." The history of Leonardo's experiences and triumphs in Milan reads like a novel. He became an indispensable retainer at the court of the ambitious Lodovico. The latter was controlled by his passions which were low and degrading, but he sought to hide the sensualities of his court by making it the home of the fine arts and the rendezvous of literati. Naturally, Leonardo was regarded as a great acquisition, for he was "a man of men, whose brain conceived with equal skill madonnas and ironclads, Apollos and siege-batteries, church shrines and pontoon-bridges. His feet were as firm in the stirrups of the warhorse as they were graceful in the dance on palace-floors; his hand could bend an iron horse-shoe, or touch the delicate strings of the lyre with magic skill; his eye was as quick and

efficient in the tournament or the swordplay as in melting the hearts of Italian beauties; his voice was as ready for the discussion of Archimedes or Aristotle as for singing improvised love-sonnets, or wooing the not unwilling ladies of the court."

We cannot of course follow the career of this many-sided man to its conclusion. Having accompanied him to Milan and witnessed his enthusiastic reception by court and people, we may be prepared to watch the progress of his noblest work. In his "Last Supper" the interest of the average tourist in the life of Da Vinci culminates.

Notwithstanding the dissolute profligacy of Lodovico, there were times when he was faithful to his, for the most part neglected, wife, the good Duchess Beatrice. Accordingly when she died he was filled with remorse. The Abbeychurch of Santa Maria delle Grazie had been her favorite retreat during many years of pious devotion. Here numerous decorative works had been begun under her approval, and among these the subject of our sketch. The "Last Supper" was completed in 1498, after about three years of pretty constant labor. For a work of its size, or indeed of much smaller size of equal scope and merit, this was but a very short time. with the most careful attention to deThe artist labored indefatigably and tail. Not only was the whole composition fully wrought out in a cartoon, but each separate figure was itself executed in pastel. The earlier stages of the work, however, called forth the impatience of the prior at the head of the monastery. To him it was merely a job, the covering of a given space of wallsurface with decorative painting. He could not appreciate Leonardo's hours of meditation, and at length he reported to the Duke, who sent for the artist and demanded a statement of the case from his own lips. Of this interview, Vasari gives the following interesting account: "Leonardo, knowing the prince to be intelligent and judicious, determined to explain himself fully on the subject with him, although he had never chosen to do so with the prior. He, therefore, discoursed with him at some length respecting art, and made it perfectly manifest to his comprehension, that

men of genius are sometimes producing most when they seem to be laboring least, their minds being occupied in the elucidation of their ideas, and in the completion of those conceptions to which they afterwards give form and expression with the hand. He further informed the Duke that there were still wanting to him two heads, one of which, that of the Saviour, he could not hope to find on earth, and had not yet attained the power of presenting it to himself in imagination, with all that perfection of beauty and celestial grace which appeared to him to be demanded for the due representation of the Divinity Incarnate. The second head still wanting, was that of Judas, which also caused him some anxiety, since he did not think it possible to imagine a form or feature that should properly render the countenance of a man who, after so many benefits received from his Master, had possessed a heart so depraved as to be capable of betraying his Lord and the creator of the world. With regard to that second, however, he would make search; and after all, if he could find no better, he need never be at any great loss, for there would always be the head of that troublesome and impertinent prior. This made the Duke laugh with all his heart. He declared Leonardo to be completely in the right; and the poor prior utterly confounded, went away to drive on the digging in his garden and left Leonardo in peace."

may, while He (Christ) Himself, bows His head with downcast eyes. His whole attitude. the motion of His arms and hands, all seem to repeat with heavenly recognition, and His silence to confirm: It cannot be otherwise. One of you shall betray me.'

The "Last Supper" is painted on the end wall of what was originally the refectory of the monastery. To day it is but a glorious ruin. It is hard to realize the enormity of neglect and abuse which it has been allowed to receive. Toward the close of the sixteenth century an inundation held the refectory under water for many days. The walls were thoroughly saturated, and thick mould covered the picture. About the year 1624 the unappreciating monks caused a doorway to be cut through the lower central portion of the picture. During the earlier part of the eighteenth century several bungling attempts at restoration added grievous insult to shameless injury, and in 1796 the enormity of abuse culminated in the occupation of the refectory as a stable, by the cavalry of Napoleon. "The troopers," with ribald jest, "amused themselves by throwing bricks and shooting pistol-balls at the heads of the apostles.' The general plan, design and grouping is perhaps all of the original which, properly speaking, can be said to remain. Here and there, huge blotches reveal the obliterating work of water, mould and imperfect recoloring. And yet there is a majesty and grandeur about the work which holds us spellbound. It is not antiquity nor association merely. It is not the thought that this once was a great work of art. You feel that it still is, and, as long as the least shadow remains, forever will be, the work of a master spirit, a great creator, of whom Philip Hamerton enthusiastically writes: "O splendid Leonardo! the many-sided! a narrower nature might have yielded more abundant fruit."