Sometimes, genius, far from making good crumbs with humility, is carried away by the dishonest propositions of that infallible and seductive Don Juan who is the arrogance, leading the wise to the precipice of their own limitation.
Generally, History, a severe stepmother at the service of the dreams of Reason promulgated by her godfather Voltaire - without forgetting that our Francisco de Goya believed that they created monsters - tends to tiptoe over these events when the river sounds, making itself 'a pilatos', to end up labeling them with the sambenito of falsehood. Or what comes to be the same, but said with pomp and circumstance: calling them apocryphal.
Sigmund Freud, the father of psychoanalysis, was also wrong, when analyzing certain artists and part of his most remarkable works, he promulgated the theory that what really was hidden behind that supernatural mischievous smile of Leonardo da Vinci's Gioconda was, in fact, a concupiscent Oedipus complex, unconsciously reflected in a work that, without being, apparently, the best of his creations, is, however, the best known and praised and also, just and necessary to say, the most enigmatic.
In this regard, the legend says, that one night, Leonardo, perhaps especially motivated or perhaps envious of the immeasurable beauty of a full moon that rose splendidly above the cathedral of Florence, or perhaps, embedded in a familiar rise Of genius, he shouted sickly, at the bewilderment of his neighbors, that he would paint such a beautiful woman, that even Death would never be able to snatch her beauty.
Coincidentally this, which apart from never resting, has a very fine ear, walked quietly there, being carried away, in turn, by an unusual feeling of melancholy, completely oblivious to an entity that was supposed to have been born without No type of sentimental conditioning. However, leaving aside the philosophical discussions on such an interesting detail, it seems that that night, the eve of the Day of the Dead or All Saints - that the English, surely motivated by their Protestant phlegm, gave them to call Halloween - comments that Death had provisionally abandoned its scythe, hiding it in the bottom of the rickety closet - which may be true, after all, that Death does not need comforts - that was in the room of the smelly pension where he had stayed, simulating, prudently, being a rosemary who was heading to Rome.
Nor was it the first time he faced the presumptuousness of mortals, although he had always felt a special affection for Leonardo - who as a child appeared in dreams, pretending to be a vulture, a detail of which centuries later, Herr Freud would affirm , psychoanalytically speaking, that Leonardo had pretensions of 'occupying the place of his father in the conjugal bed' - to the point that he had often looked the other way, when he tried to imitate the birds with their ancient designs, meddling, blatantly , in the work of the Guardian Angel. Even so, despite his sympathy, he could not allow such an affront to go unpunished and decided to teach the daring artist a lesson.
Death, which although it appeared on it, did not need to use the Major Arcana of the Tarot to spy on Leonardo's emotional accounting, knew in detail the venial snacks of the latter and knew that his passion for Lisa Gherardini made him see her as the most beautiful woman in this world, at least since the time of Nefertiti and Cleopatra.
He also knew that two do not sin if one does not want - if Dante had lived, possibly moved, he would also have placed them in his song V, next to the hapless Francesca de Rimini and her lover - and the fatality - that angel no less black, that some call Destino- he had wanted this to be the brand new and envied wife of Francesco del Giocondo.
It is known of this one, of Francesco del Giocondo, who, without being a notable character, possessed, however, that bad darling but nevertheless desired beauty that money gives, a circumstance that Lisa took advantage of to justify her frequent trips to Leonardo's studio and surrender to more than just a boring perching session. Leonardo, then, painted Lisa. He painted it with his soul, as only a heart in love could touch on perfection, putting all his innate qualities at the service of the expressiveness of his passion.
But he did not know that Death had become more than his shadow: he had also become a jealous lover. And jealousy, in the end, prevailed more than the desire to give a small lesson to his boldness. So, while Leonardo thought he was painting his beloved Lisa, it was Death who really hid behind the sweet face of the beloved, hence his enigmatic and supernatural smile.
So far, what the legend counts. It is true?. Is a lie?. They say for Florence, that on Halloween night, who has the opportunity to stand in front of Lisa Gherardini's portrait, will be able to see for himself. But of course, there is an inconvenience: the painting is in the Louvre Museum, in Paris and it is more than likely, that they do not consent to grant the appropriate permit. But who knows, for trying ...
Happy Halloween everyone!.
NOTICE: Both the text and the accompanying photographs are my exclusive intellectual property. The images were taken with permission, in the exhibition ‘Leonardo Da Vinci, the faces of genius’, held at the Palace of Las Alhajas, National Library of Madrid.