LEONARDO DA VINCI

On the sunny slopes of Monte Albano, between
Florence and Pisa, the little town of Vinci lay high
among the rocks that crowned the steep hillside. It
was but a little town. Only a few houses crowded
together round an old castle in the midst, and it
looked from a distance like a swallow's nest clinging
to the bare steep rocks.

Here in the year 1452 Leonardo, son of Ser Piero
da Vinci, was born. It was in the age when people
told fortunes by the stars, and when a baby was
born they would eagerly look up and decide whether
it was a lucky or unlucky star which shone upon
the child. Surely if it had been possible in this way
to tell what fortune awaited the little Leonardo, a
strange new star must have shone that night,
brighter than the others and unlike the rest in the
dazzling light of its strength and beauty.

Leonardo was always a strange child. Even his
beauty was not like that of other children. He had
the most wonderful waving hair, falling in regular
ripples, like the waters of a fountain, the colour of
bright gold, and soft as spun silk. His eyes were
blue and clear, with a mysterious light in them, not
the warm light of a sunny sky, but rather the blue
that glints in the iceberg. They were merry eyes