THE LAST SITTING
Characters: Da Vinci the artist and his sitter Mona Lisa.
The scene presents a section of the artist’s studio in Florence in the first years of the sixteenth century. At the back, which is open, one sees a balcony, and beyond this the sky of late afternoon, gradually fading to a mellow twilight. Plants, flowers, statues, give the place a festive air. In the centre is a plain, dark screen, in which has been cut a frame-like opening. Behind this sits Mona Lisa, a young woman in the early twenties, in the picture-attitude. Well down to one side, at his easel, is Da Vinci, a handsome man between forty and fifty, in rose-colored coat, and black cap from beneath which flow his dark curling locks, absorbed in his work. Before the curtains part, and for a minute or so after, men’s voices to the accompaniment of a lute are heard singing:
Mona Lisa.
[As the song ends, with a sigh of rapture.]
O strain divine! Ferarra’s music set
With lyric words befitting!
What means it all? Twin spirits met
Only to part, parting to meet again ...
Like yonder crystal globes that play
At hide-and-seek beneath the fountain’s spray;
[Pointing to one side where a fountain is supposed to be.]
As pain mocks pleasure, sunbeams conquer rain!
Master!
[With sudden contrition.]
Master! I spoil the sitting!
A thousand pardons. I’ll keep still.
Da Vinci.
Not so, Madonna. Speak and move at will,
The background while I sketch.
Mona Lisa.
[Rising, comes from behind the screen.]
Background, in sooth!
[Leaning on the balcony, she looks over, then turns to him.]
Below, a tempting parquet,
Lies Florence, jewel-bright with youth,
And all the singing pageantry of life!
From which I fain must turn to face
In fancy, what?
[Indicating the front, as if it were a wall on which her dreams were visualized during her sittings.]
Da Vinci.
In fancy, what? Your home.
Mona Lisa.
In fancy, what? Your home. Sole resting place
For fancy?
Da Vinci.
[With conviction.]
For fancy? Aye, Madonna, when a wife....
Unless ’twere mass or market!
Mona Lisa.
[With a half-smile and a half-sigh, going to a mirror and contemplating her reflection.]
Poor Mona Lisa! Such reply
Might give Giocondo ... he whose third am I!
[After a slight pause she approaches Da Vinci, who is busily at work.]
Ser Leonardo, is, as men aver,
Art so to you a cloister
No woman boasts your love for her?
Da Vinci.
[Smiles, and pauses a minute before answering.]
Once on a time, a crab, all craft and claw,
Wooed shellfish with crustacean wile.
Then, through the flattered fool’s wide-open smile,
Plucked out its heart! The moral, pray you, draw!
Mona Lisa.
[Laughs, but slightly ruefully.]
Crab I; you no such oyster!
[Da Vinci nods a smiling assent. Again she speaks, but this time seriously.]
Is art love’s foe, then?
Da Vinci.
[With a gesture renouncing the issue.]
Is art love’s foe, then? Who can tell
If spark shall kindle altar-flame, or hell?
[The lady nods, as if to say, “I see your point-of-view, though without binding myself to share it!” and moves about the room, occupying herself with the flowers. Going behind the artist, she showers a handful of petals over him. Looking up, Da Vinci invites her attention to his work.]
Mona Lisa.
[Exclaims, and claps her hands delightedly.]
’Tis wondrous strange: when to be painted, first
My good Giocondo brought me,
Strained glance and formal mien rehearsed,
Prim folded hands ... like this!
[Illustrating.]
Prim folded hands ... like this! Self-conscious smirk
As one who from her frame cries, “See!
“The great Da Vinci’s self hath painted me!”
I deemed my sitter’s tribute to your work!
But these four years have taught me...!
Da Vinci.
[Completing her thought.]
From fragment mood one gleans the whole;
Portrays, less hand, eye, smiling lip, than soul!
Mona Lisa.
[Reflecting on this, speaks with some bitterness.]
The soul! A human soul! Poor wanton thing!
Sport of your beck and bribing!
Thus wide its prison-doors you fling
For thrush, caged swallow, ransomed from the mart ...
Through pity of its lonely note?
Ah, no! Cold-blood, by rule to test, and rote,
Dipped wing and balanced muscle for your Art!
[She moves away.]
Da Vinci.
[Has uttered a protesting “Oh, oh!” He now explains.]
That’s Buonarotti’s gibing!
Mona Lisa.
[Earnestly; completing her analogy.]
Master, to bird or soul such flight
Spells—
Da Vinci.
Spells— Freedom!
Mona Lisa.
[Shakes her head mournfully.]
Spells— Freedom! Song-void days, and mateless night!
Da Vinci.
[After a slight pause, picks up his brush again.]
Come; sit, Madonna, for the last time!
Mona Lisa.
[Turns on him with a startled exclamation, then forces herself to speak calmly.]
Come; sit, Madonna, for the last time! Done,
My portrait, then?
Da Vinci.
[Bows affirmatively.]
My portrait, then? The features.
Poised, Sphinx-wise, twixt coquette and nun,
Ever your smile eludes....
Mona Lisa.
Ever your smile eludes.... Painter, or man?
Da Vinci.
[Shrugs shoulders.]
Ask Time, artist whose master-skill
Puts the transcending touch! Unfinished, still
Divine, so bides my Christ-face at Milan!
Mona Lisa.
And I, least of His creatures,
Bide ... how?
Da Vinci.
Bide ... how? Divine, grace of Art’s brush,
Or.... Choose! Woman by love revealed!
[Throwing aside his brush, he strides a step or so toward her, then stands with extended arms, awaiting her choice.]
Mona Lisa.
[Exclaims, shocked at the crisis she herself has invited.]
Or.... Choose! Woman by love revealed! Oh! Hush!
[Picking up the artist’s brush, she puts it into his hand, then quietly resumes her place behind the screen. Da Vinci bows, resigning himself to her decision, and goes back to his place, first, with a wave of his hand, giving a signal to the musicians, who would seem to be in a gallery to one side, but unseen by the spectator. Again the music sounds, men’s voices accompanied by the lute, very softly and finally dying away. Mona Lisa glances now and then wistfully at Da Vinci, but he soon becomes wholly engrossed with his work, as if no emotional passage between them had occurred. At last, with a slight sigh of final renunciation, she composes her features to her inscrutable half-smile as she gazes steadfastly on an imaginary world. And so are the curtains drawn upon the scene.]