The Notebooks of Leonardo Da Vinci — Volume 2 — Reading Companion

Casting the Sforza Horse

Richter devotes considerable space to reconstructing Leonardo’s equestrian monument for Francesco Sforza. He notes that only thirteen manuscript passages survive, and until his edition, scholars knew just five. The notes on casting are “obscure and incomprehensible” in isolation, but Richter argues they “supplement each other” when combined with sketches. He cites Boito’s comparison of the horse to the Colleoni and Gattamelata statues, suggesting a lineage of pacing poses. Among the drawings, only one shows a galloping horse; the rest depict a quiet walk, leading Richter to conclude the final model likely used the latter. The editorial commentary here is cautious: Richter does not claim to resolve the monument’s history, but he lays out evidence for future reconstruction.

Hydrological Observations and Their Limits

Leonardo’s notes on rivers and tides reveal a mind attuned to measurement, yet Richter’s footnotes expose gaps in his knowledge. One passage describes a river that “ebbs 40 braccia” and carries saltwater “more than a hundred and fifty miles” inland—a figure Richter calls “obviously an exaggeration founded on inaccurate information.” Another note on the Rhone gives its length as 400 miles, a plausible estimate. The contrast shows Leonardo working from secondhand reports, not direct survey. A third entry diagrams the garden at Blois, with a conduit by Fra Giocondo. Richter notes this may have been written from oral information, not on-site, and dates it after 1505. These details ground the notebooks in Renaissance information networks, not pure empirical observation.

Architectural Fragments and Editorial Reconstruction

Richter’s treatment of architectural notes mirrors his approach to sculpture: he assembles scattered references and cross-references them with historical sources. The Blois garden note includes a sketch of a siphon and conduit, which Richter connects to Felibien’s description of a “pavilion carre” and octagonal structure. He quotes a 1516 payment record for construction at Blois, suggesting Leonardo’s note may relate to ongoing work. Yet Richter refrains from claiming Leonardo designed these features; he simply documents the coincidence. The editorial voice remains tentative, using phrases like “seems to indicate” and “it may be observed.” This restraint preserves the fragmentary nature of the source material while offering context for readers unfamiliar with French chateau history.

Richter’s Role as Translator and Interpreter

Jean Paul Richter’s translation shapes how modern readers encounter Leonardo. He organizes the notebooks by theme—sculpture, architecture, hydrology—imposing order on chaotic manuscripts. His footnotes serve dual purposes: clarifying obscure terms and correcting errors. For instance, he explains that a passage on the Sforza horse’s casting “seems obscure” but gains meaning when paired with Vasari’s technical chapter. He also flags when Leonardo’s geography is suspect, as with the tidal exaggeration. Richter’s commentary does not claim completeness; he notes that “a good deal” of certain passages “seems obscure and incomprehensible.” This honesty respects the limits of the source, making the edition a guide to uncertainty as much as to knowledge.

Readers approaching Volume 2 should expect a mosaic of technical jottings, not a polished treatise. Richter’s editorial apparatus—footnotes, cross-references, and cautious judgments—provides a framework for interpreting Leonardo’s working methods. The value lies in the details: a sketch of a siphon, a note on tidal range, a comparison of horse poses. These fragments resist grand narrative but reward close attention to process. Let the inconsistencies stand; they mark the notebooks as living documents of a mind in motion.

Flipping past Leonardo’s careful notes on water’s stubborn path, I paused on his sketches of bridges and flow. It struck me, then, how he recorded lives lost to their own convictions—anonymous, precise. Later, the same quiet ache surfaced while reading Labor's Martyrs: Haymarket 1887, Sacco and Vanzetti 1927 — A Reader’s Guide. Both books feel like holding a stone that remembers the river.