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Authors: Laura T. Emery
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corner, for fear of drawing the attention of someone I should have known, but didn’t.
“Who’s that?” I asked of a handsome young man, intently sketching with his left hand in a corner beyond Sandro’s past masters. He sat on a planter by himself, seemingly unaccustomed to this sort of gathering.
“That is a pupil of Verrocchio. His name is Leonardo. He is an odd little fellow, but a talented painter with brilliant ideas. He painted an angel that so surpassed his master’s in every way that Verrocchio has since vowed never to paint again!”
“Leonardo da Vinci?” I asked, astounded.
“The same. But do not mention Vinci to him. He is not proud of his upbringing.”
“No. I won’t,” I agreed.
Leonardo da Vinci .
If anyone in this era would be open-minded enough to believe my story, it would be him. Perhaps the most inventive, creative, ingenious man who ever lived could provide the answers I couldn’t find on my own. I knew I needed to get to Leonardo.
“I should like to meet him,” I muttered to Sandro, and he nodded quizzically. As I made a beeline towards the legend of invention with Sandro trailing behind, Antonella and the retinue remained as wallflowers, lined up with the retinues of the other guests. Before we reached Leonardo, we were spotted by Lorenzo, who immediately headed towards us, his innate ill-tempered face softened by his large smile.
“ Buonasera Sandro,” greeted Lorenzo jovially, then he looked to me and bowed. “And the lovely Simonetta. Where is Marco this fine evening?” he asked politely, as he gestured to a servant so they might hand us each a goblet of wine.
“I have no idea,” I confessed with a laugh.
After a brief pause, Lorenzo also burst out into laughter, followed by Sandro, and Poliziano, who was just walking up to join us.
“Marco can be a bit of a pest. You are best off without him!” Poliziano interjected. “Did you see San Lorenzo on the way over?”
“Yes, it turned out nicely,” Sandro answered. “Just needs a façade.”
Unfortunately, it would never get one.
“Did you know that I was named after the Saint and the church, Simonetta?” Lorenzo asked.
“No,” I answered truthfully, “I always thought it was the other way around.”
Another round of laughter rolled through the group.
Who knew the truth could be so hilarious?
“It is not a wonder why everyone adores you my lady,” Lorenzo said with a bow. “Both men and women love you without envy.” He had an unexpected air of modesty.
“Poliziano, I hear you’re to write a poem about a joust?” I asked, trying to make polite conversation.
“ A joust?” Poliziano laughed. “I am to commemorate the love between Giuliano and yourself, and the joust he will surely win in your honor!”
Love? For Giuliano?
As I tried to decipher the situation, Poliziano began to recite: “I will not show any pity to Giuliano until he carries off a new triumph for us: for I have shot an arrow into his heart from the eyes of The Fair Simonetta.”
“But, what about Marco?” I decided to ask, since a reasoned dose of honesty had been working for me so far.
I received nothing but another round of laughter in return. I wasn’t sure how else to react but to laugh along with them. Once I caught my breath, and while I was still ahead of the game, I downed the wine and excused myself to hunt down Leonardo, who I found still alone in the distant corner. Sandro joined me, and as we approached Leonardo, I noticed that his soft, young, beautiful face was just about the same age as my current one. His sculpted jaw and cheekbones were framed by ebony hair and just the shadow of facial stubble.
“ Salve , Leonardo,” Sandro greeted. “May I present Simonetta Cattaneo Vespucci.”
“ Buonasera, Signora Vespucci .” He stood from the planter and bowed, but quickly returned to a sitting position with his sketch paper and coal.
“Pleased to meet you,” I replied. “May I ask what you’re
“Who’s that?” I asked of a handsome young man, intently sketching with his left hand in a corner beyond Sandro’s past masters. He sat on a planter by himself, seemingly unaccustomed to this sort of gathering.
“That is a pupil of Verrocchio. His name is Leonardo. He is an odd little fellow, but a talented painter with brilliant ideas. He painted an angel that so surpassed his master’s in every way that Verrocchio has since vowed never to paint again!”
“Leonardo da Vinci?” I asked, astounded.
“The same. But do not mention Vinci to him. He is not proud of his upbringing.”
“No. I won’t,” I agreed.
Leonardo da Vinci .
If anyone in this era would be open-minded enough to believe my story, it would be him. Perhaps the most inventive, creative, ingenious man who ever lived could provide the answers I couldn’t find on my own. I knew I needed to get to Leonardo.
“I should like to meet him,” I muttered to Sandro, and he nodded quizzically. As I made a beeline towards the legend of invention with Sandro trailing behind, Antonella and the retinue remained as wallflowers, lined up with the retinues of the other guests. Before we reached Leonardo, we were spotted by Lorenzo, who immediately headed towards us, his innate ill-tempered face softened by his large smile.
“ Buonasera Sandro,” greeted Lorenzo jovially, then he looked to me and bowed. “And the lovely Simonetta. Where is Marco this fine evening?” he asked politely, as he gestured to a servant so they might hand us each a goblet of wine.
“I have no idea,” I confessed with a laugh.
After a brief pause, Lorenzo also burst out into laughter, followed by Sandro, and Poliziano, who was just walking up to join us.
“Marco can be a bit of a pest. You are best off without him!” Poliziano interjected. “Did you see San Lorenzo on the way over?”
“Yes, it turned out nicely,” Sandro answered. “Just needs a façade.”
Unfortunately, it would never get one.
“Did you know that I was named after the Saint and the church, Simonetta?” Lorenzo asked.
“No,” I answered truthfully, “I always thought it was the other way around.”
Another round of laughter rolled through the group.
Who knew the truth could be so hilarious?
“It is not a wonder why everyone adores you my lady,” Lorenzo said with a bow. “Both men and women love you without envy.” He had an unexpected air of modesty.
“Poliziano, I hear you’re to write a poem about a joust?” I asked, trying to make polite conversation.
“ A joust?” Poliziano laughed. “I am to commemorate the love between Giuliano and yourself, and the joust he will surely win in your honor!”
Love? For Giuliano?
As I tried to decipher the situation, Poliziano began to recite: “I will not show any pity to Giuliano until he carries off a new triumph for us: for I have shot an arrow into his heart from the eyes of The Fair Simonetta.”
“But, what about Marco?” I decided to ask, since a reasoned dose of honesty had been working for me so far.
I received nothing but another round of laughter in return. I wasn’t sure how else to react but to laugh along with them. Once I caught my breath, and while I was still ahead of the game, I downed the wine and excused myself to hunt down Leonardo, who I found still alone in the distant corner. Sandro joined me, and as we approached Leonardo, I noticed that his soft, young, beautiful face was just about the same age as my current one. His sculpted jaw and cheekbones were framed by ebony hair and just the shadow of facial stubble.
“ Salve , Leonardo,” Sandro greeted. “May I present Simonetta Cattaneo Vespucci.”
“ Buonasera, Signora Vespucci .” He stood from the planter and bowed, but quickly returned to a sitting position with his sketch paper and coal.
“Pleased to meet you,” I replied. “May I ask what you’re
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