Jeanne Kalogridis - Painting Mona Lisa

JEANNE KALOGRIDIS

Painting Mona Lisa

For George, forever

Cover

Title Page JEANNE KALOGRIDIS Painting Mona Lisa

Prologue: Lisa June 1490

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PART I April 26, 1478

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December 28, 1478

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PART II LISA

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Epilogue: Lisa July 1498

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Acknowledgements

By the same author

Copyright

About the Publisher

My name is Lisa di Antonio Gherardini Giocondo, though to acquaintances I am known simply as Madonna Lisa, and to those of the common class, Monna Lisa.

My likeness has been recorded on wood, with boiled linseed oil and pigments dug from the earth or crushed from semi-precious stones, and applied with brushes made from the feathers of birds and the silken fur of animals.

I have seen the painting. It does not look like me. I stare at it and see instead the faces of my mother and father. I listen and hear their voices. I feel their love and their sorrow, and I witness again and again, the crime that bound them together; the crime that bound them to me.

For my story began not with my birth but a murder, committed the year before I was born.

It was first revealed to me during an encounter with the astrologer, two weeks before my eleventh birthday, which was celebrated on the fifteenth of June. My mother announced that I would have my choice of a present. She assumed that I would request a new gown, for nowhere has sartorial ostentation been practised more avidly than my native Florence. My father was one of the city’s wealthiest wool merchants, and his business connections afforded me my pick of sumptuous silks, brocades, velvets and furs. I spent those days studying the dress of each noblewoman I passed, and at night, I lay awake contemplating the design.

All this changed the day of Uncle Lauro’s wedding.

I stood on the balcony of our house on the Via Maggiore between my mother and grandmother, staring in the direction of the Ponte Santa Trinita, the bridge which the young bride would cross on her ride to her groom.

My grandmother had come to live with us several months earlier. She was still a handsome woman, but the loss of her second husband had soured her and she was faded and frail; her hair had grown white at the temples, and her body bony. She would not live out the year. My mother was dark-haired, dark-eyed, with skin so flawless it provoked my jealousy; she, however, seemed unaware of her amazing appearance. She complained of the adamant straightness of her locks, and of the olive cast to her complexion. Never mind that she was fine-boned, with lovely hands, feet and teeth. I was mature for my years, already larger and taller than she, with coarse dull brown waves and troubled skin.

Downstairs, my father and Uncle Lauro, attended by his two sons, waited in the loggia that opened onto the street.

My mother suddenly pointed. ‘There she is!’

From our vantage, we could see down the length of the busy street to the point that it ended and the Ponte Santa Trinita began. A small figure on horseback headed towards us, followed by several people on foot. When they neared I could make out the woman riding the white horse.

Her name was Giovanna Maria; I had met her often during her six-month courtship with my mother’s brother. She was a friendly, plump fifteen-year-old with golden hair. Never again would she look as lovely as she did that day, in a pink overgown covered with seed pearls, her curls tamed into ringlets beneath a tiara of braided silver. When she arrived, my uncle helped her dismount. He was twice Giovanna’s age, a widower whose eldest son was two years her junior; she seemed painfully young standing next to him.

Before we joined them downstairs, my grandmother eyed the pair sceptically. ‘It cannot last happily. She is Sagittarius, with Taurus ascendant, and Lauro is Aries; everyone knows the Archer and the Ram despise one another. And with Taurus … the two of them will constantly butt heads.’

‘Mother,’ my own reproached gently.

‘If you and Antonio had paid attention to such matters—’ She broke off at my mother’s sharp glance and urged us downstairs to greet the bride.

I was intrigued. My grandmother was right; my parents loved each other, but had never been truly happy. For the first time, I realized that we had never discussed my natal chart.

I decided to bring up the matter with my mother as soon as possible. Well-to-do families often consulted astrologers on important matters. Charts were routinely cast for newborns. In fact, an astrologer had chosen that very day in June as the most fortuitous for Lauro and Giovanna Maria to wed.

After the feast as the dancing commenced, I sat beside my grandmother and questioned her further about the futures of the bride and groom. I discovered that Lauro had been born with his moon residing in Scorpio. ‘As a result, he has never been able to resist a Scorpio woman. It caused much heartache in his first marriage. Giovanna Maria’s moon is in Sagittarius, so she would be happiest with a man of her own sign.’ Grandmother sighed. ‘I married twice. Once for love – and we were miserable. The second time, I made no such mistake. I went to the astrologer. And though I had to turn down some well-born candidates, when I met your grandfather—’ her expression and tone softened ‘—I knew the stars smiled on us. Our charts were perfectly matched. A gentler, finer man was never born.’

‘My sign … and my moon … What are they?’ I asked. ‘Who would be a good match for me?’

She gave me an odd look. ‘Born in June … You would be Gemini, then. As for the others, I cannot say.’

‘But you were at my birth,’ I persisted. ‘Wasn’t an astrologer hired?’

‘I was too busy helping your mother – and you – to worry about such a trivial thing,’ she said. Politely, I did not point out that she had only just finished lecturing me on its importance.