Leonardo da Vinci, Pathfinder of Science

by Henry S. Gillette

Tonight, however, Leonardo avoided the usual invitations to stop and chat. His father would be back from Florence; he had been going there more and more frequently as his fame as a lawyer grew. Now Leonardo was thinking that he had almost finished the assignment his father, half jokingly, had given him many weeks ago—so many weeks ago that he was sure his father had forgotten about it. At that time a peasant, whose skill in providing fish and game for the table of Piero’s big household was greatly appreciated, had asked a favor of him. This man had a round, wooden shield cut from a fig tree and he had asked Piero to have a design painted on it for him in Florence. Piero, who had noticed the sketches his son was making of plants, rock formations, and scenes in his wanderings about the countryside, decided to test his son’s ability and gave the shield to the boy. In the secrecy of his room, into which no one was allowed, Leonardo had smoothed and prepared the wood, and on it he was painting a monster.

Scrambling over rocks, through streams, and into caves, Leonardo had been in the habit of gathering all manner of creeping and crawling life. Patiently he would bring these home in his leather pouch and carefully study and draw them. Maggots, bats, butterflies, locusts, and snakes added to the confusion of the boy’s already cluttered room. Everywhere he went he collected the things that aroused his curiosity; and as a result, his room was always filled with rocks, dried plants, flowers, the skeletons of small animals—and his pages of notations and drawings. Now Leonardo had combined the features of these small forms of life to make a monster—emerging from a dark grotto and breathing fire and smoke—a thing more terrifying than if done from imagination, for each feature was a duplicate of a reality in nature.

Unobserved, Leonardo reached the privacy of his room and emptied this day’s collection on a table beside the shield. He lit a candle and examined his catch—a lizard and a large grasshopper. These would complete his picture; and, the most extraordinary find of the day—a fossil seashell found high on the slopes of a mountain! How did it get there? Was it a result of the flood about which his religion had taught him? Had an immense wave deposited this ancient sea-life high on the Albano mountains? Looking more closely he saw that it was a type of sea-snail and in almost perfect preservation. This he would have to think about and examine later.

Now, however, the picture must be completed, for he hoped to surprise his father in the morning. But just then, Leonardo heard the family stirring below and his father calling him to dinner. Reluctantly he left his table, made himself presentable and went downstairs.

“Ah, Leonardo,” his father said when he appeared in the family dining room. “I saw Benedetto dell’Abbaco on the way in town and he tells me you haven’t been to school as often as you should—is that true?”

“Yes, Papa—but I’m not doing badly.”

“Signor Benedetto might agree, at least in your mathematics. He tells me you ask him questions that often make him stop and think. But Leonardo, you have other subjects—Latin, reading, and writing—as well as arithmetic. You mustn’t neglect the others, my boy. But come—let us eat.”

Together they sat down with the rest of the family—a large, prosperous, and happy gathering. When dinner was over Leonardo made hurried excuses to all the family, protesting that he was too tired to sing, and escaped back into his room. For a long time he worked, unaware that the house was growing quieter. Finally he laid down his brushes and his maul stick, pushed his chair back and smiled a triumphant smile. The shield was finished. Tomorrow he would ask his father in to look at it.

Conscious now that everybody had gone to bed, Leonardo blew out his candle and opened the shutters. The night sky was a panoply of stars and only here and there was the dark loneliness of the valley relieved by pinpoints of light. Leonardo leaned his head against the window frame and stared at the blue infinity above him. What exactly were the stars? Did all of them move around the earth? What was the haze that obscured the horizon ever so faintly? What was that sea-snail doing in the mountains? Why? How?

The next morning Leonardo found his father and Uncle Francesco in the garden deep in conversation about their vineyards and olive groves.