The Second Mrs.

Gioconda

Signore! Why does this place smell so strongly of a tanning house? You are an artist,
not a lowly tradesman. She pulls up her heavy dress and steps delicately over scraps of
canvas and bottles of linseed oil that litter the oor.
Theres no reply. The two apprentices working together to pull a canvas over its wooden
frame pay no attention to her either, the only sound the hammering of nails onto wood. Their
tunics are stained with a multitude of colours, dotted with browns, greens, and yellows. The
woman eyes the two boys critically, and clears her throat expectantly.
One of the boys nally turn around to face her properly, swinging a small hammer in his
hand.
If you would take a seat, Miss. Our master is returning from a meeting at the court of Il
Moro.
The womans attention is immediately piqued. Like an old lady whos sole job is to be the
town gossip, she immediately lowers her voice.
Is the Duke not having an affair with that Cecilia Gallerani? Am I mistaken, or did the
Duke not marry just a mere two months ago? Her dress rustles as she spins around the studio,
as if looking for something.
Signora, that painting is not here. Master delivered had it to Il Moro a fews weeks ago.
The boy holding the hammer swings it again, as if daring her to look closer at all the paintings
and sketches sitting on the oors and hanging on the walls. The woman shrugs, making another
rustle as the heavy dress startles again. She sighs loudly and plops herself onto the seat across
from the easel.
How much longer will I be waiting here? My husband is expecting me home before
supper, and he has paid a handsome price for your master to paint me.
While shes speaking, the hammering sounds start again. Over the ruckus, boy-with-the-
hammer says, We can send a messenger and you may come back tomorrow, if you would not
like to wait any longer.
The woman, seemingly satised, stands up.
Then expect to see me tomorrow morning.


The door knocks the moment the church bells ring ten times.
Boy-with-a-hammer stops scraping linseed oil off the paint palettes and runs to the door,
not before throwing over his shoulder, Signore, the missus is here to see you. Her husband
Francesco del Gioconda had commissioned you for a portrait, did he not? Although, I must ask,
why the lowly second wife of an unknown merchant? Sir, with all due respect, you declined even
requests of the Duchess of Mantua!
The man setting up the easel stands up slowly and raises a hand.
Boy, you talk too much, and much too fast. My frail old heart cannot take it.
Boy-with-a-hammer drops his head sheepishly, and turns around to face his employer.
My apologies, sir.
He opens the door of the studio, and the woman from yesterday is standing there, this
time in another generously sized, intricately embroidered dress, that looks quite plain from afar.
Its a green dress with heavy brown sleeves.
The man bows when he sees the woman.
Signora! please. Come in.
The woman laughs coyly, like a cat with feathers in its mouth.
Im not longer a signora, Master Da Vinci! My husband commissioned the painting, did
he not?
And that he did.
He beckons for the apprentice to show the woman to her seat. She sits down, and folds
her hands primly over her stomach. She leans towards Da Vinci, who is busy looking for
charcoal.
Now I know I shouldnt be saying this, Signore, but my husband originally wanted you to
paint his rst wife, and not me! Can you believe that? She says this condingly, as if shes
letting everyone in on a big secret that should be the most important thing in history.
Da Vinci is ever gracious.
Is that true? Why, monna, I cant imagine painting someone else other than you.
He continues sketching out the woman sitting in front of him, hands ying over the
board, occasionally stopping every once in a while to squint at his subject. The room is silent for
a good hour or so, until boy-with-a-hammer coughs discreetly. Leaning further towards the
woman sitting in the chair, he opens his mouth.
Signora, if you do not mind me asking, what was your husbands rst wife called?
The woman smiles, although it doesnt seem like a smile for the apprentice. Almost like
shes telling him a funny joke, she chuckles, leans towards his ear and whispers into it.
Lisa.