The Secret Supper (18 page)

“But the time of peaceful revelations soon came to an end. The Church realized that these ideas meant a threat to the hegemony of Rome and put an end to their dissemination. From its point of view such a conclusion was only to be expected. How could the Pope tolerate the existence of Christian communities that had no need of a clergy in order to address themselves to God? How could Christ’s representative on Earth consider himself inferior, or even equal, to Mary Magdalene? The Church therefore declared her anathema, and degraded and insulted the woman who had loved Jesus and who, like no other mortal, knew of His human condition.

“And, dear Elena, let me explain something else.

“One day, early in 1479, while Florence was still reeling from the attack on our venerated Lorenzo de’ Medici, Master Leonardo received a strange visitor in his bottega. He was in his fifties, dressed impeccably in black with blond curly hair and, in spite of his age, bearing a resemblance to the cherubs we had been struggling to paint on our canvases. The stranger, who had arrived without being announced, showed polite manners and wandered through the Master’s house as if it were his own. He even took the liberty of commenting on our works one by one. Mine was by chance a portrait of Mary Magdalene holding an alabaster vase in her hands, a detail which, when the stranger saw it, seemed to delight him immensely. ‘I see that Master Leonardo teaches you in the proper manner,’ he said approvingly. ‘Your sketch has great possibilities. Continue.’ I confess I felt flattered.

“ ‘And tell me,’ he said, ‘do you know the meaning of the vase that your Magdalene is holding?’

“I shook my head.

“ ‘It’s in the fourteenth chapter of Mark, my boy! That woman came ‘with an alabaster box of ointment of spikenard very precious, and she broke the box and poured it on Jesus’ head,’ just like a priestess would do with a true king…a mortal king, of flesh and bone.’

“The Master arrived at that very moment. To everyone’s surprise, he did not seem at all upset to find a stranger in his bottega, but rather, delighted. The two men embraced fondly and began, then and there, to discuss all sorts of high matters, divine and human. That was how I first heard something I’d never imagined about the real Mary Magdalene.

“ ‘Work seems to be progressing apace, my dear Leonardo,’ the man said proudly. ‘Even if, since Cosimo’s death, I feel that our efforts might soon come to nothing. The Republic of Florence is to face terrible trials in the near future.’

“The Master took the delicate hands of the visitor in his, large as those of a blacksmith.

“ ‘To nothing, you say?’ he bellowed in his deep voice. ‘But your Academy is a temple of knowledge as solid as the pyramids of Egypt! Isn’t it true that in the past few years it has become a place of pilgrimage for young men who want to learn more about our brilliant ancestors? You’ve successfully translated the works of Plotinus, of Dionysius, of Proclus and even those of Hermes Trismegistus himself, and you’ve given us Latin versions of the secrets of the ancient pharaohs. How could all this work be lost? You’re the most remarkable thinker in all of Florence, my friend!’

“The man in black blushed gracefully.

“ ‘Your words are kind, Leonardo, my friend. However, our struggle to regain the knowledge that humanity lost in its mythical Golden Age is at its lowest ebb. That is why I’ve come to see you.’

“ ‘You speak of defeat? You?’

“ ‘You know that which obsesses me since I translated Plato for old Cosimo, don’t you?’

“ ‘Of course! Your old idea about the immortality of the soul! The whole world will honor your name after such a discovery! I can almost see it, sculpted in golden letters on an arch of triumph: Marsilio Ficino, the Hero Who Restored Our Dignity. The Pope himself will shower you with blessings.’

“The stranger laughed.

“ ‘You always exaggerate, dear Leonardo!’

“ ‘You think so?’

“ ‘The merit belongs entirely to Pythagoras, to Socrates and Plato, even to Aristotle, not to me. I’ve merely translated them into Latin for all to have access to their wisdom.’

“ ‘Well then, Marsilio, what can possibly worry you?’

“ ‘The Pope worries me, Master. There are plenty of reasons to believe that the assassination attempt on Lorenzo de’ Medici in the Cathedral was carried out under his orders. And I’m certain that his reasons were not only political but also religious.’

“Leonardo arched his thick eyebrows, not daring to interrupt.

“ ‘It’s been months now that we suffer from that damned curfew in the city. Since the attempt against the Medici, the situation has become unbearable. The churches are forbidden to celebrate the sacraments or acts of worship, and the worst is that all this will continue until I throw up my hands—’

“ ‘You?’ Leonardo snorted angrily. ‘And how are you concerned with all this?’

“ ‘The Pope wants the Academy to relinquish possession of a series of texts and ancient documents in which are written things contrary to the doctrine of Rome. The plot against Lorenzo sought, among other things, to lay hands on them by force. In Rome, they’re especially keen on snatching from us the apocryphal writings of John, which, as you know, have been in our possession for some time now.’

“ ‘I understand.’

“Leonardo stroked his beard, as he did whenever he was deep in thought.

“ ‘What information are you afraid of losing, Marsilio?’

“ ‘In those writings, which are copies of copies of lines written by the Beloved Disciple, John, is an account of what happened to the Twelve after Jesus’ death. According to them, the head of the early Church, the original one, was never Peter but James the Less. James! Can you imagine! The legitimacy of the Pope would dissolve into thin air!’

“ ‘And you believe that in Rome they know about these papers and want to get hold of them by whatever means…’

“The stranger nodded, and then added:

“ ‘John’s texts don’t stop there.’

“ ‘They don’t?’

“ ‘They say that besides the Church of James, another church broke off from among the disciples, this one headed by Mary Magdalene and supported by John himself.’

“Leonardo grimaced while the man in black continued.

“ ‘According to John, Mary Magdalene had always been very close to Jesus. So much so, that many believed that she was the one to carry on His teachings, and not the pack of cowardly disciples who denied Him in His moment of greatest danger—’

“ ‘Why do you tell me all this now?’

“ ‘Because you, Leonardo, have been chosen as the repository of all this knowledge.’

“The stranger took a deep breath and said:

“ ‘I know how dangerous it is to keep these texts. Their possession might lead one to the flames. However, before destroying them, I ask you to study them carefully, to learn all you can about this Church of Mary Magdalene and John. And that whenever you have the chance, that you leave some of the essence of these new Gospels in your work. Then the old biblical saying will come true: “He who hath eyes to see—” ’

“ ‘Shalt see.’

“Leonardo smiled. He didn’t hesitate long. That very afternoon, he promised his visitor that he’d take charge of the legacy. I know that they met again and that the man in black handed over to the Master books and papers which he afterward studied with great care. Later, with the new developments, when Savonarola ascended to power and the House of the Medici collapsed, we moved to Milan in the service of the duke and began work on a series of different projects. From painting we passed on to the design and construction of war machinery and flying engines. But that secret, that strange revelation that I witnessed in Leonardo’s bottega, never vanished from my mind.

“I’ll tell you something else that will surprise you.

“Even though the Master never spoke of this with any of his disciples, I believe that he’s now fulfilling the promise he made to Marsilio Ficino in Florence. I’m telling you this with an open heart: there’s not a single time when I visit his work in the Dominican refectory that I don’t recall Leonardo’s last words to his visitor on that winter afternoon so long ago…

“ ‘When you see in the very same painting the face of John and your own, dear friend Marsilio, you’ll know that there, and nowhere else, have I hidden the secret with which you’ve entrusted me.’

“And, Elena, I’ve discovered Marsilio’s cherubic face among the faces in The Last Supper.”

27

We buried the father librarian in the Cloister of the Dead shortly before vespers on Tuesday the seventeenth of January. Since it was feared that his remains might begin to decompose during his wake in the chapel, it was decided that the burial should take place as soon as possible. Two novices wrapped his body in a white shroud to which straps were attached, by means of which he was lowered into a deep grave that soon was covered with earth and snow. It was a brief ceremony, with no great formalities, a hurried farewell scarcely justified by our monastic obligation to eat before sunset. And while the brethren spoke in whispers about the rice and vegetables or the honey cakes left over from Christmas, I was overcome by a strange feeling of despondency. Why had the Father Prior and his acolytes—the bursar, the cook, the one-eyed Benedetto and the monk responsible for the scriptorium—presided over the second funeral at Santa Maria in less than a week, with such equanimity? Why did they seem to care so little for Father Alessandro? Would no one spill a tear for his sake?

Only the Father Prior showed, in the end, a glimmer of human compassion for the poor soul who lay now below ground. In his brief sermon, he had already alluded to the fact that he possessed proof that the librarian had been the victim of a madman recently arrived in Milan. “Therefore, no one is more deserving of a Christian burial place. But,” he had added, lifting his eyes from the body as it was lowered into the bottom of the grave, “do not believe the false rumors afoot in the city. Father Alessandro Trivulzio, may God have mercy of his soul, died a martyr at the hands of an abominable criminal who sooner or later will receive due punishment. I myself will see that it is so.”

Murder or suicide, however hard I tried to stifle my suspicions, it was not easy to believe that two burials in such a short space of time were normal in Santa Maria. The last words that Master Leonardo spoke to me before returning to his workshop echoed in my mind like thunder before a storm. “In this city, nothing happens just by chance. Don’t ever forget it.”

That evening I took no supper.

I felt utterly incapable.

The other monks, less fastidious than this poor servant of God, ran to fill their bellies in a nearby hall turned into a dining room for the occasion, where they devoured the remains of the meal offered by the duke on the day of his wife’s funeral. Since the refectory was put out of use thanks to the scaffolding and the painting equipment, the monks had grown used to having their customs upset and their eating place moved.

Amidst such precariousness, I discovered a personal advantage: while the work continued, I knew that the room in which The Last Supper progressed was the perfect hiding place into which I could retire to reflect during mealtimes. No brother would come into this room to disturb my meditations, and no one from outside the monastery would want to wander through a place as cold and dusty as this.

Therefore, with my mind on the days we shared trying to solve the mysterious riddle, I headed toward the refectory in order to pray in peace for the soul of Father Alessandro.

As I had expected, the room was empty. The last rays of the sun barely lit the lower part of Leonardo’s composition, illuminating Our Lord’s feet, which seemed crossed one over the other. Was this a foretelling of what Christ was to suffer on Calvary? Or had Leonardo depicted His feet in this position for another, obscure reason? I made the sign of the Cross. The thin light, filtered through the irregular line of columns in the neighboring courtyard, lent the scene a ghostly atmosphere.

Only then, observing the guests at the Holy Supper, did I see that what Leonardo had told me was true.

Judas indeed had the features of Father Alessandro.

How had I not realized it earlier?

The wicked apostle was sitting at Jesus’ right hand, silently gazing on His serene beauty. In fact, not counting the surprised gesture of James the Elder and the animated conversation between Matthew, Judas Thaddeus and Simon at the other end of the table, all the other apostles seemed to keep their mouths shut. It was ironic to think that at this very moment, Father Alessandro’s soul might be truly looking upon the face of Our Father in Heaven. However if, like Judas, the librarian had decided to take his own life and the Father Prior was deceiving himself as to his innocence, his fate now was not that of Holy Glory but of the eternal torments of Hell.

Letting my eyes wander over the mural, another detail caught my attention. Judas and Our Lord seemed to be sharing a single piece of bread (or was it a fruit?) that neither of them actually touched. The traitor, holding in his right hand the infamous money bag, was stretching his left hand toward the edge of the table, as if about to grab hold of something there, while Our Lord, oblivious of Judas’s gesture, stretched His right hand in the same direction. What was there that might interest the One as well as the other? What might Judas want to steal from Christ at the very moment in which the Son of God announces that He has been betrayed and that His lot is cast?

These were my thoughts when suddenly an unexpected visitor interrupted my reflections.

“I’d wager ten to one that you can’t make a thing out of it, can you?”

I started. A figure that I could not quite make out, dressed in a scarlet cape, crossed the room and stopped a few feet away from me.

“You are Father Agostino Leyre, are you not?”

With astonishment, I realized that the intruder was a woman. What I could see of her face, under a purple hat, was soft and rounded. She was dressed up as a man, something both illegal and dangerous, and she was observing me with curiosity. She was of more or less my height and her feminine features were well disguised under the large cape. Her gloved hands rested on the hilt of a shining rapier.