Da Vinci mode

LEONARDO’S SWANS by Karen Essex

Century, Random House, 344 pages

Available at Fully Booked

Historical fiction is a rich vein to mine; and after the well-received Kleopatra and Pharoah (Kleopatra, Volume II), Karen Essex takes on Renaissance Italy and clocks in with her newest novel, Leonardo’s Swans. In the tradition of writers such as Philippa Gregory and Sarah Dunant, Essex researches extensively and embeds her fast-paced writing style with all the details this research arms her with. Whereas Dunant may have a more poetic, flowing style, Essex is brisk yet rich with plot developments. At times, despite the languid descriptions of life in these 15th century Italian city-states, we feel like we’re on a dizzying merry-go-round, transported from one location to the next, encountering a myriad, ever-shuffling cast of characters. So don’t be fooled by the Mills & Boon-like cover of the Century, Random House edition (Doubleday used a detail from a Da Vinci painting for their much better cover); if it’s political intrigue, Machiavellian machinations, and an inside look into the world of commissioned court painting and art, Leonardo’s Swans comes at you like a junked-up teleserye.

No points to be scored for divining that the Leonardo referred to in the title is none other than Leonardo Da Vinci. But rather than giving us some fictitious biography of the great Renaissance man, Essex stays true to her title and makes the "swans" (some of the women who we find in his paintings and the stories behind them) take centerstage.

The novel opens with Isabella d’Este’s interior monologue over the tomb of her deceased sister, Beatrice. We glean that Isabella is married to the Marquis of Mantua, while Beatrice was the wife of Ludovico Sforza, who assumed the title of Duke of Milan under suspect circumstances. After this opening, we are whisked by flashback to that period before their respective marriages. Sibling rivalry and petty jealousy, these all form part of the sisters’ relationship to each other. We are given the rundown on arranged marriages spurred by political expediency, and it’s a fascinating world we are immediately thrust into. The courtships (or lack of it) that envelop the lives of these two sisters make for intriguing reading, and we are introduced to their prospective husbands.

At this point, mention is made of Cecilia Gallerani, consort of Ludivico, an avowed true love of his, but someone he will not marry because it makes no political sense. Already in place as court painter for Ludivico is Leonardo Da Vinci and there is a commissioned portrait, which somehow Isabella manages to view, and thus begins her obsession to be painted by the Magistro. This is, of course, not a simple matter, as it is Beatrice who is betrothed to Ludovico. It would be unseemly for Isabella’s portrait to emerge without our reluctant Beatrice’s portrait first being executed. Much later, and still without either sister having been painted by the Magistro, Beatrice discovers a portrait of Lucrezia Crevilli, a woman she suspects Ludivico of carrying on a relationship with.

The very fluid, ever-changing political scene of 15th century Italy becomes the backdrop for the events that ensue, and it’s a scenario of shifting allegiances and always angling to be on the winning side.

In one passage, Essex writes, "Beatrice wonders if war will ever stop making strange bedfellows. Her sister shelters Chiara while Francesco marches on his brother-in-law’s king. Francesco heads an army bought and paid for by his other brother-in-law, and supported by the Venetians, who are now in Milan protecting Ludivico, who for decades had been their declared enemy. How will it all end? Will it all end?"

And throughout all this political scrambling, the strong-willed Isabella remains true to her ambition of being painted by Leonardo. When events conspire to bring about the downfall of Ludovico, she opens Mantua to the inhabitants of Milan who have had dealings with Beatrice.

As can be expected, "By the time the Magistro arrived in Mantua, Isabella had taken in so many refugees from Milan that she had to scramble to find quarters for him. But she would have thrown her own mother – God rest her soul, and Lord Jesus forgive, but you know it’s true – out of her chambers to accommodate so great an artist."

Leonardo is never less than the wily, cagey personage he would obviously have had to be in order to survive in this milieu of court intrigues. He generously asks Isabella to sit for a sketch (and nothing more). Driven to exasperation while sitting, and wanting to talk art with the painter, Isabella is constrained because, "It would be like interrupting an expert marksman as he aims his shot, or a poet as he searches for the exact metaphor."

The concept of fortune – of Fortuna’s wheel – is one that played a great role in these times. It’s much like how feng shui would be an integral element of any treatment of the world of big business in Hong Kong. While having her characters speak in today’s colloquial English, Essex still manages to create sympathy for her characters and the motivation that carries them to do one thing or another. Human frailties, insecurities, and vanity are seen as common then as they are today.

To accentuate her research and validate her fiction, Essex even gives us a postscript, which details where these paintings and sketches can still be found. Several are at the Louvre, while the Gallerani portrait is housed at the Czartoryski Museum in Krakow, Poland. A Da Vinci mural of the Last Supper that gets prominent mention in the novel because a portrait of Beatrice is incorporated in the painting facing the mural is in the Santa Maria Della Grazie Church on the outskirts of Milan.

There is much to recommend with Leonardo’s Swans. While Leonardo went on to produce masterpieces such as the "Mona Lisa," the novel brings us squarely into his world as we discover how these "swans" were in fact the women who entered the life of one Ludovico Sforza.