Leonardo da Vinci, the 1476 Trial and the Mystery of Salaì

When telling the story of Leonardo da Vinci, we often remain within the realm of the universal genius: painter, inventor, scientist, visionary. Far more rarely do we enter one of the most delicate chapters of his biography — the one connected to his possible homosexuality. Not because documents do not exist, but because recounting them without distortion is more complex than it may seem. Interpreting them requires moving carefully between what we know and what his time allowed to be openly expressed. Yet there is a specific episode, recorded in the archives, that marks a turning point in his youth: the 1476 sodomy trial.

1476: When Florence Accused Leonardo

In 1476, Leonardo was twenty-four years old. He was living in Florence, working in Verrocchio’s workshop, and still far from the fame that would make him immortal. In April, his name appeared in an anonymous accusation of sodomy, alongside several other young men. Among them was Jacopo Saltarelli, described in contemporary sources as a male prostitute.

The accusation was submitted through the system of so-called tamburazioni — public boxes where anonymous denunciations could be deposited. In Medicean Florence, sexual relations between men were not uncommon, particularly among young apprentices and adult men, yet the law punished them severely. Moral control was part of the city’s political and social balance.

The case against Leonardo was ultimately dismissed for lack of evidence. There were no direct testimonies, no confessions, and no conviction. Nevertheless, the episode remained recorded in judicial archives, and that alone is enough to make it a key element in understanding his private life.

It is important to stress this point: we do not have proof of guilt, but we do have proof of an accusation. And in an era when reputation meant everything, even the shadow of scandal could leave a lasting mark on a person’s life.

Silence as a Choice

After 1476, Leonardo’s life takes on a distinctive trait: discretion. He never marries, no documented relationships with women emerge, and he does not establish a traditional family. In an era when marriage was both a social norm and a tool of economic stability, this absence appears at the very least unusual.

We cannot turn an absence into proof. Yet we can read it as a sign of an identity lived with caution. During the Renaissance, silence was often a form of survival. Discretion offered protection from public hostility and potential persecution.

Leonardo seems to build around himself a world shaped by art, study, inquiry, and beauty. A universe in which desire is never openly declared, yet reveals itself subtly in the images, the bodies, and the gazes he paints.

Salaì: Apprentice, Companion, Enigma

In 1490, Salaì — whose real name was Gian Giacomo Caprotti — entered Leonardo’s life. He was about ten years old when he was taken into Leonardo’s workshop. He would remain by his side for more than twenty-five years.

In his notebooks, Leonardo describes him in far from flattering terms: “thief,” “liar,” “glutton.” And yet he never definitively dismisses him. Through departures, returns, tensions, and shared living arrangements, Salaì remains a constant presence in his life.

Many historians have suggested that the relationship between the two may have been emotional or even romantic in nature. There are no love letters, no explicit confessions. What exists instead is a long cohabitation, a bond that spans decades, and a significant fact: upon Leonardo’s death, Salaì inherited works and property.

Some scholars have also noted the resemblance between Salaì’s features and certain figures painted by Leonardo, such as the sensual Saint John the Baptist or the Bacchus attributed to his circle. Ambiguous male faces, subtle smiles, gazes that seem to hover between spirituality and desire. Not evidence, but iconographic suggestions.

It is here that history meets interpretation. To speak of “love” in the modern sense would be anachronistic. Yet to ignore the depth of that bond would be to diminish the human complexity of Leonardo himself.

Desire, Art, and Ambiguity

If the 1476 trial represents the public and documented episode, Salaì embodies the more private and nuanced dimension. Between these two poles lies Leonardo’s aesthetic of the male body.

His young saints, his angels, his ambiguous figures seem infused with a restrained sensuality. Slender hands, soft lips, and direct gazes toward the viewer create a silent, almost intimate dialogue. It is not explicit eroticism, but a subtle and refined tension that breaks with the rigidity of many earlier representations.

Leonardo never writes about desire in his notebooks. Yet he paints it. And he does so with a delicacy that transcends the moral categories of his time.

A Myth Shaped Over the Centuries

In the centuries that followed, biographers and critics have oscillated between denial and romanticization. Some dismissed any hypothesis related to his homosexuality, considering it irrelevant or unfounded. Others transformed his relationship with Salaì into an almost novelistic love story.

The truth, as often happens, likely lies somewhere in between. The identities of the fifteenth century do not align neatly with contemporary categories. Speaking of “homosexuality” in the modern sense risks being reductive. At the same time, ignoring the historical evidence would mean erasing a possible dimension of his human experience.

Today, Leonardo has also become a cultural symbol for many gay men who see in him an example of genius lived at the margins of convention. This is not a forced appropriation, but rather a legitimate reinterpretation that restores complexity to his figure.

Between Scandal and Silence

The 1476 trial and the mystery of Salaì do not offer us definitive answers. Instead, they reveal a more human image of Leonardo: a man who endured public scandal, chose discretion, formed deep bonds, and transformed the tension between desire and social norms into immortal art.

Perhaps it is precisely this ambiguity that makes him feel even more contemporary. Not an icon to be neatly labeled, but a complex individual — capable of living, and sublimating, what his time could not openly name.