In this series, the curatorial team presents one work from the Meural art library we find essential. (See all installments.)

A work by Rubens is the only record we have of ‘the Lost Leonardo.’ And that’s only half the story.

Two artists, both alike in ability / In fair Florence, where we lay our scene / From gentle grudge, break to new mutiny / Where civil walls, hide masterworks yet unseen.

— (A pretty poor adaptation of Shakespeare’s Prologue to Romeo and Juliet)

Ok—so Shakespeare didn’t write a play exploring the rivalry of two of the greatest Renaissance artists, and there’s little to suggest that Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci felt anywhere near the same deep hatred that drives the Capulets and Montagues in Romeo and Juliet. And yet the story of a public art commission that pitted the two artists against each other is full of theatrical flourishes—a tale of bitter competition, political upheaval, and lost masterpieces, about which historians still obsess today.

The scene: 16th century Florence, specifically the Council Hall of the Palazzo Vecchio—the center of a new Florentine republic after the expulsion of the ruling Medici family.

Our protagonist: one Leonardo da Vinci. In his early 50s, da Vinci is celebrated across Europe. He has recently revealed the Mona Lisa and, according to the chief chronicler of the Renaissance, Vasari, “his fame had so increased that all persons who took delight in art—nay, the whole city of Florence—desired that he should leave them some memorial.”

And so, Act One: The city’s newly elected gonfalonier (chief citizen) commissions a patriotic work for Palazzo’s main hall to honor the Commonwealth. It is decided that da Vinci will paint the Battle of Anghiari (which secured the Florentines’ ascendence over central Italy a century earlier).

But wait—who enters stage left? Our antagonist: A 29 year old sculptor by the name of Michelangelo. Where da Vinci is refined and charming, Michelangelo is slovenly and secretive. As yet, he is known only mainly as a sculptor, although his Pieta and David have established him as a prodigy (the latter having just been installed outside the Palazzo Vecchio).

Act Two: It turns out the gonfalonier has mischief on his mind and has commissioned this young ‘upstart’ too. He is to paint another famous Florentine battle—that fought at Cascina. Florence’s citizens await the outcome of this competition between two of the country’s greatest artists with anticipation. The expectation is that their rivalry will result in works of extraordinary quality and beauty.

The two artists have “an intense dislike for each other.” There are reports that Michelangelo publicly humiliates da Vinci as the artist “who made the design of a horse to be cast in bronze, but who was unable to cast it.” Da Vinci is, in conversations with his patrons and friends, scornful of sculptors (namely Michelangelo). But the two set to work on life-size cartoons (typically used in the creation of frescoes) of their proposed works.

And Act Three? An unsatisfying denouement. Both artists produce sketches and cartoons that will go on to shape the representation of war in art. Yet they are not the optimistic, patriotic works envisioned by Florence’s ruling citizens. Da Vinci’s work depicts the heart of battle—a violent, tense tangle of men and horses. Michelangelo chooses a moment before the conflict, when bathing soldiers, hearing the enemy, rush to arm themselves against imminent threat. These are deeply personal, enigmatic, even disturbing works. And works that remain unfinished.

For if these rivals were opposites in almost everything, they shared one common capacity: non-completion. Da Vinci already had a reputation for abandoning his many projects. With this commission, Michelangelo began to establish his.

Fin.

Although, if there was an Act Four, we would fast forward to the 20th century, as art historians and forensic specialists search for clues of da Vinci’s work beneath the existing frescoes on the Palazzo Vecchio’s halls (da Vinci did at least start painting, but abandoned the work once his paint mixture began to peel and fade), and as academics wonder about the true impact of this contest—the one moment in history, when two of humanity’s greatest artists worked side by side, of which no meaningful record remains.

— Poppy Simpson, Head of Curation