MY DEAR NIECE,
Now that I have reached the age of more than threescore, and
my life draws to a close, I think it only right that you should
know the real truth about my trouble with Pompeo - trouble that
put me in the gravest danger of my life and nearly ended my
career thirty years ago. Do not show this letter to anyone, but
do not destroy it! Instead, wall it up in the new hall now being
built at your convent, so that it may be found only after the
building falls to ruins many hundred years hence.
It was in Rome in 1534, shortly after I had lost my position
as Director of the Mint, that Pompeo approached me. I had known
him for some time as a jeweller from Milan. He thought himself
clever, but I regarded him as a pompous windbag, and (although he
did not know it) as a secret enemy. However, I greeted him
politely, and asked what he wanted.
"You would not call me an artist, would you?" he
surprised me by asking.
"Well, hardly," I replied.
"And yet in half an hour I can make a better picture than
the greatest artist can paint in a week."
"I have no time for jokes," I said, turning away in
disgust.
He clutched my arm and took something out of his pouch.
"Look at this!" he said
I stared in amazement at a piece of parchment he held in his
hand. On it was a picture of the Coliseum, but such a picture as
I had never dreamed of. Except that the picture was in black and
white, it was exactly as if an image from a mirror had been
miraculously transferred to the parchment.
"Did you make this?" I gasped.
"I did, in half an hour, yesterday morning. "
I looked and looked at the picture. I could not imagine what
medium had been used. The picture had not been drawn by pencil or
pen, nor painted with oil-paint or water-colours.
Pompeo stood by, with a smirk on his face, watching my
perplexity and wonder. Finally, I turned to him and asked,
"But why do you show this to me, Pompeo?"
"The truth is," he said, "I need your
help."
"My help?"
"Yes. I know that you are making some medals for Pope
Clement (VII) and see him often. If you can get me an audience
with his Holiness and will help persuade him to grant me a large
reward for my new method of making pictures, it will make the
fortunes of both of us, for I will give you one-tenth of all he
gives me."
"But, Pompeo, you are closely related to Messer Trajano,
the Pope's favourite servant. Why don't you approach his Holiness
through him?"
"Unfortunately, an estrangement has arisen between
us." This (I learned later) was true, and for a reason most
discreditable to Pompeo. Under the circumstances I, of course,
agreed to Pompeo's conditions. After he had sworn me to secrecy,
he took me to his shop and revealed his secret.
No doubt you know, my dear niece, that with the right kind of
lens it is possible to project a picture of the view outside on
the wall of a darkened room. This is called a camera lucida. In
brief, what Pompeo had done was to take a thick lens and place it
at one end of a closed box, which thus acted as a small camera
lucida. At the other end of the box he placed a plate of thin
isinglass treated with chemicals (which I shall not name). The
light of the image so affected the chemicals that they reproduced
the outside scene on the isinglass in reversed black and white.
Pompeo explained that it was necessary to fix the image by
soaking the isinglass in other chemicals in a dark room to make
the image permanent. Then with this plate exposed to sunlight he
transferred the picture to chemically treated parchment.
I congratulated Pompeo on this great discovery, and told him
to bring his sun-camera and chemicals to my house the next
morning, from whence we would take them to show to the Pope.
I slept but ill that night, turning over and over in my mind
two questions: first, where had Pompeo learned the secret of the
sun-camera (for I was convinced that he was not capable of
inventing such a thing by himself); and secondly, what was I to
do in regard to the matter? It was not until the early hours that
I reached an answer and a decision.
In the morning, Pompeo came to my house as arranged, but I
greeted him with a long face. "I am sorry, Pompeo," I
said, "but I have just heard that his Holiness was taken ill
last night, and can see no one today. Let us hope that he will be
recovered by tomorrow."
"I hadn't heard that," he said. (Neither had I, as a
matter of fact, but I was determined that Pompeo should not see
the Pope.)
I continued: "The news has just reached me; but come, it
is too fine a day to sit here repining. I have a new gun, and the
marshes are full of ducks and other fowl. Let's get on our horses
and go out for a day of sport. Come, let us start."
"But what of the sun-camera and chemicals? I must take
the home first."
"Not a bit of it!" I replied. "We can lock them
up in my strongbox and they will be perfectly safe."
This was done, and we started off for the marshes. I was
careful to find the most deserted spot imaginable. We tied our
horses, and as we advanced towards the water I was holding the
gun. It crossed my mind that anything falling into one of the
nearby bogs would never be seen again. I looked all round, but no
one was in sight, then I turned to Pompeo and said, "Now we
are alone. Suppose this time you tell me the truth about the
sun-camera. Who really discovered it?"
"As I told you before, I did."
"Oh, no Pompeo, you will never make me believe that a
donkey like you could invent such a thing as the sun-camera ...
but never mind, I already know the answer. There is only one man
who ever lived who was capable of making a discovery like
that."
"Who do you mean?"
"That great artist, poet and scientist - Leonardo da
Vinci."
"But, man - Leonardo has been dead for fifteen
years!"
"Yes, but I was born in Florence myself, and I have heard
that he left many unpublished note-books. You were in Florence a
few months ago; no doubt you read them and stole the idea of the
sun-camera."
"You are dreaming," said Pompeo; "but even if
all that were true, what difference would it make? Leonardo is
dead, and I have the sun-camera."
"No, you are wrong."
"What do you mean?"
"I have the sun-camera, Pompeo, locked up safe in my
strong-box!"
"For the love of God, what's the matter with you? Surely
you are not a thief? I thought you were my friend."
"You are no friend of mine, Pompeo. I know perfectly well
that it was you, acting through Messer Trajano, who persuaded the
Pope to deprive me of my position as Director of the Mint and to
give the post to Fagiuolo instead."
"But that is an old story, why bring it up now?"
"Do you not understand, even yet? Here we are entirely
alone; over there is a deep bog that would hide a body for ever;
I am armed and you are not. In short, I am going to kill you,
Pompeo!"
So saying, I cocked my gun. I had expected that he would
attack me, but instead, he turned to run. Aiming the arquebus
directly at him, I pulled the trigger; but by cursed ill-luck the
gun misfired.
Dropping the gun, I drew my dagger and started after Pompeo.
But in all my life, before or since, I have never seen anyone run
as fast as he did. Fat as he was, he reached the horses first,
flung himself astride, and galloped off as if the Devil were
after him.
By chance or design Pompeo had taken the faster horse, but he
weighed much more than I, so I had every prospect of overtaking
him before we reached the city. But I lost him when he turned and
took a short-cut through a field.
I set off for the city as fast as I could. By good luck I
reached my house in time; I opened the strong-box and took out
the sun-camera and the chemicals and hurried to the house of my
best friend, Albertaccio del Bene, whom I knew I could trust. I
left them with him for safe keeping and started back to my own
house.
When I came in sight of it, as I had expected, I saw Pompeo in
front of my door, and with him was the Bargello (sheriff) with
his constables, some armed with pikes, some with arquebuses, and
some with two-handed swords.
I approached and called out, "Pompeo, are you feeling
better now?"
He was taken back for an instant, and then shouted at the
Bargello, "Arrest that man; he tried to kill me!"
"Kill you, my dear fellow!" I exclaimed in a tone of
amazement. "Your mind is more disturbed than I
thought."
Turning to the Bargello, I said, "Pompeo's mind has been
affected for some time; and this morning, when he came to see me,
it was evidently much worse. He talked in such a wild way that I
tried to soothe him by taking him for a day's shooting in the
marshes. But as soon as we got there, he lost his reason
altogether. He screamed that he saw the Devil coming after him
and galloped off. I followed as fast as I could, for I feared
that in his state he would do himself some injury. I have just
arrived."
"Lies, lies, lies!" screamed Pompeo; "I tell
you, he tried to shoot me, and would have, but his gun
misfired!"
"But, Pompeo, calm yourself; why should I want to kill
you?"
"You know why; you want to steal my invention - my
sun-camera."
"Sun-camera! What on earth do you mean? I never heard of
such a thing."
This enraged Pompeo so much that he forgot his need for
secrecy. Turning to the Bargello, he said, "I have invented
a machine that can make a better picture in half an hour than the
best artist can draw in a week."
"Do you mean that you can draw a picture in half an hour
that is better than one made by a trained artist? " the
Bargello asked in astonishment.
"No, I don't draw the picture myself. With my machine the
sun makes the picture for me. Just as if an image from a mirror
had been transferred to parchment."
At this reply the Bargello's whole attitude changed. Turning
to me, he said, "I beg your pardon for doubting you for a
moment. You are right, Pompeo has gone mad. There can be no doubt
that he is insane."
"No, no, no!" screamed Pompeo, "I'm not crazy.
I don't care, now, whether the Pope gives me a reward or not.
I'll show you my sun-camera and you can see for yourself."
Pointing at me he said. "He locked it in his strong-box this
morning. Have him open it and I will prove it to you."
In silence I handed my keys to the Bargello, and we three
entered my house. The Bargello opened my strong-box, but,
naturally, there was nothing inside.
"There you are," I said. "I am very sorry for
Pompeo; I happen to have a medicine which is very useful in cases
of this kind. Let me give Pompeo a few drops and soon, no doubt,
he will be more quiet."
"For the love of God, no!" screamed Pompeo.
"He's trying to poison me!" He was so worked up that he
foamed at the mouth and acted in such a manner that if the
Bargello had had any remaining doubts they would have been
dispelled. He and his constables marched Pompeo away and locked
him up.
The next day I was summoned by Pope Clement, for the Bargello
had reported the matter to him. In answer to his questions, I
told him that there was no doubt that Pompeo was dangerously
insane. Others had reported the same thing, so the Pope ordered
Pompeo to be confined in an asylum until he should recover his
wits.
If Pompeo had been at all clever he would have calmed down and
stated that he now realized that his tale of a sun-camera was a
delusion, and that his mind was now recovered. But, like the
donkey he was, he kept insisting that everything he had said was
true. (As a matter of fact it was, but only I knew that.)
For a time everything went well with me. The Pope was very
pleased with some gold medals I had made for him, and promised me
enough new work to make my fortune. Everything seemed to be going
my way, with the Pope my patron and Pompeo in the insane asylum.
But suddenly the Pope was taken ill. I had finished another
medal, and took it to him; he was in bed and unable to see the
medal clearly, even with his spectacles. Three days later Pope
Clement died.
I knew I must be careful, for anything can happen in the
anarchy which occurs after one Pope dies and before the new Pope
is elected. On Clement's death, his order confining Pompeo to the
asylum was annulled.
I learned this unexpectedly. I was sitting in the street with
several friends watching the great commotion which always follows
the death of a Pope, when a group of ten Neapolitan soldiers,
very well armed, came up and stopped just opposite us. The ranks
opened, and Pompeo stepped out from the centre of the group and
hailed me.
"So, Pompeo," I said, "I am happy to see that
you have recovered your wits again. Or have you? I see that you
have hired these ten men as a bodyguard. No doubt to protect you
from some fancied danger?"
Pompeo replied with a torrent of abuse, and called me every
vile name he could think of. My companions expected me to draw my
sword against him, but I saw that was just what Pompeo wanted. If
I drew my sword it would give his hired soldiers an excuse to
kill me. My friends and I were armed, but were outnumbered. And
so I said in a loud voice to Albertaccio del Bene, at my side.
"If any sane man were to talk to me like that it would be
the last thing he would ever do on this earth; but poor Pompeo
has not yet recovered from his madness, so I will just ignore
him."
This was too much for any of Pompeo's remaining caution, and
he shouted when he should have kept silent. "We will see if
I am crazy or not! Tomorrow, I will have another sun-camera
ready; and this time the Bargello will believe me." So
saying, Pompeo and his body-guard marched off slowly towards the
Chiavica.
Although I did not show it, Pompeo's last words had given me a
tremendous shock. I had supposed that it would take him weeks to
grind a new lens for the sun-camera (for an ordinary spectacle
lens will not do). Was it possible that he had already made
another lens beforehand? Pompeo was a liar and a boaster, but
this time he might be telling the truth. I wished then that I had
drawn my sword and led my friends against him, but it was too
late now. How could I ask them to attack a man who I had just
stated was not responsible for his actions?
Very uneasy, I followed Pompeo's party alone, taking care to
keep out of his sight. When the group reached the corner of
Chiavica, all my fears were confirmed, for Pompeo entered an
apothecary's shop while his guards remained at the door. He had
told me that he always bought fresh chemicals from this shop just
before making a sun-picture.
I saw all my plans in ruins about me, and knew that I had not
an instant to lose. Pompeo came out of the shop, and his soldiers
opened their ranks and received him in their midst. Nerving my-
self, I drew my dagger, and taking everyone completely by
surprise, I pushed into the midst of the group. Before they could
draw their swords I seized Pompeo with my left hand and with the
dagger in my other hand struck at his head. (I have always
maintained, since, that I only meant to wound him, but this is
not true.) I tried to kill him, and I did kill him, for as he
turned away in fright, my dagger stabbed him just behind the ear
and he fell stone-dead in the street.
Shifting the dagger to my left hand, I drew my sword to defend
myself against odds of ten to one. However, these soldiers were
so taken by surprise that they all ran to lift up the corpse, and
before they could recover their wits and attack me, I had escaped
alone through Strada Giulia.
You already know, my dear niece, what deadly danger I went
through after the death of Pompeo. I had to go in hiding from the
Bargello, who had orders to take me dead or alive. Worse still,
Pompeo's family hired assassins with promises of great rewards if
they would slay me. I had several very narrow escapes from being
killed. Finally, I had to flee from Rome and take refuge in my
native city of Florence.
After almost a year, my friends in Rome persuaded the new Pope
Paul (III) to grant me the pardon of Our Lady's Feast in
mid-August. I went to Rome under a safe-conduct, and presented
myself to the Pope, who signed the pardon and had it registered
at the Capitol. On the day appointed, I walked in penance in the
procession, and so got clear of the murder at last.
And now, my dear niece, no doubt you are wondering why you
have never heard anything about the sun-camera and its marvellous
pictures. You will wonder why I did not use the invention and
make a great fortune with it. To explain: Pompeo was wrong, that
day on the marshes, when he thought that I wanted to steal the
sun-camera for my own advantage. Murderer I have been, but never
a thief. When I first realized that the discovery could only have
been made by Leonardo da Vinci, I asked myself, "Why had not
Leonardo given his discovery to the world?"
A little thought gave me the answer. Leonardo knew that
artistic creation is the greatest glory of our human race. The
past century has given us many great artists, and doubtless the
next century will give us as many more. But suppose the secret of
the sun-camera became known. Anyone and everyone, from Emperors
down to common ploughboys, could make as accurate pictures as now
only the greatest artists can make. Real artists no longer would
be able to obtain patrons to order portraits, and would either
starve or be forced into common labour. All the great artists of
future would be stifled in their youth. And artistic creation
would be extinct.
And another matter. No doubt some artists with private means
would continue painting for pure love of the work. But I fear
that a group of quacks and charlatans without any artistic
ability at all would paint pictures distorting things as they
really are just for an effect of novelty. They might cover
canvases with meaningless daubs of colour, and then try to
persuade the ignorant and gullible that they were great pictures
that common people couldn't understand.
Perhaps these "new artists" might even sneer at
genuine artists doing honest painting, and say that their
pictures only represented things as they are and were no better
than sun-pictures.
The artists of centuries to come would thank me if they could
know what I have done for them, even though it was necessary for
me to murder my enemy, that thief Pompeo, to accomplish it.
I threw the camera into the Tiber, and I pray the Good Lord it
may be three hundred years before someone else rediscovers its
secret.
Your devoted uncle,
AUTHOR'S POSTSCRIPT: Every spring the Stanford University Art Department's water color class spends an afternoon in the lane in back of my home, painting pictures of the trees, garages, and garbage cans. Some of the work seems very good, but I found on talking to the students that not one intended to make art his, or her, profession. They explained that there is little demand now for the artist who paints things as they are ... The thought came to me: how different plans of some of these students might have been if photography had never been discovered.
The End