Tracy Chevalier - The Lady and the Unicorn

Claude had only to repeat to her father what I’d said and I would be thrown out, the commission taken from me. And I would never see Claude again.

I wanted her more than ever, and not just for bedding. I wanted to lie with her at my side and talk to her, touch that mouth and hair and make her laugh. I wondered where she had run to in the house. I would never be allowed in there – not a Paris artist with a nobleman’s daughter.

I stood very still, thinking of these things. Perhaps I did so for a moment too long. The woman in the doorway moved so that the rosary hanging at her waist clicked against the buttons on her sleeve, and I stepped back from my thoughts. She was looking at me as if she’d guessed all that was going through my head. She said nothing, though, but pushed the door open and went back in. I followed.

I had painted miniatures in many ladies’ chambers – this one was not so different. There was a bed made of chestnut and hung with curtains of blue and yellow silk. There were oak chairs in a semicircle, padded with embroidered cushions. There was a side table covered with bottles and a casket for jewels and several chests for dresses. An open window framed a view of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Gathered in the corner were her ladies-in-waiting, working on embroidery. They smiled at me as if they were one person rather than five, and I chided myself for ever thinking Claude could be one of them.

Geneviève de Nanterre – wife of Jean Le Viste and mistress of the house – sat down by the window. She had clearly once been as beautiful as her daughter. She was still a handsome woman, with a wide forehead and a delicate chin, but where Claude’s face was heart-shaped, hers had become triangular. Fifteen years as Jean Le Viste’s wife had straightened the curves, set the jaw, lined the brow. Her eyes were dark currants to Claude’s clear quinces.

In one way, at least, she outshone her daughter. Her dress was richer – cream and green brocade, intricately patterned with flowers and leaves. She wore fine jewels at her throat and her hair was braided with silk and pearls. She would never be mistaken for a lady-in-waiting – she was clearly dressed to be attended to.

‘You have just been with my husband in the Grande Salle,’ she said. ‘Discussing tapestries.’

‘Yes, Madame.’

‘I suppose he wants a battle.’

‘Yes, Madame. The Battle of Nancy.’

‘And what scenes will the tapestries display?’

‘I am not sure, Madame. Monseigneur has only just told me of the tapestries. I need to sit down and sketch before I can say for certain.’

‘Will there be men?’

‘Certainly, Madame.’

‘Horses?’

‘Yes.’

‘Blood?’

‘ Pardon , Madame?’

Geneviève de Nanterre waved her hand. ‘This is a battle. Will there be blood flowing from wounds?’

‘I expect so, Madame. Charles the Bold will be killed, of course.’

‘Have you ever been in a battle, Nicolas des Innocents?’

‘No, Madame.’

‘I want you to think for a moment that you are a soldier.’

‘But I am a miniaturist for the Court, Madame.’

‘I know that, but for a moment you are a soldier who has fought in the Battle of Nancy. You lost your arm in that battle. You are sitting in the Grande Salle as a guest of my husband and myself. Beside you is your wife, your pretty young wife who helps you with the little difficulties that arise from not having two hands – breaking bread, buckling on your sword, mounting your horse.’ Geneviève de Nanterre spoke rhythmically, as if she were singing a lullaby. I began to feel I was floating down a river with no idea where I was going.

Is she a little mad? I thought.

Geneviève de Nanterre crossed her arms and turned her head to one side. ‘As you eat you look at the tapestries of the battle that has cost you your arm. You recognize Charles the Bold being slaughtered, your wife sees the blood spurting from his wounds. Everywhere you see Le Viste banners. But where is Jean Le Viste?’

I tried to remember what Léon had said. ‘Monseigneur is at the King’s side, Madame.’

‘Yes. During the battle my husband and the King were snug at Court in Paris, far from Nancy. Now, as this soldier, how would you feel, knowing that Jean Le Viste was never at the Battle of Nancy, yet seeing his banners everywhere in the tapestries?’

‘I would think that Monseigneur is an important man to be at the King’s side, Madame. His counsel is more important than his skills in battle.’

‘Ah, that is very diplomatic of you, Nicolas. You are far more of a diplomat than my husband. But I’m afraid that is not the right answer. I want you to think carefully and tell me in truth what such a soldier would think.’

I knew now where the river of words I floated on was heading. I didn’t know what would happen once I moored.

‘He would be offended, Madame. And his wife.’

Geneviève de Nanterre nodded. ‘Yes. There it is.’

‘But that’s no reason—’

‘ De plus , I don’t want my daughters to look at bloody carnage while entertaining at a feast. You’ve met Claude – would you want her to stare at some gash in a horse’s side or a man with his head cut off while she’s eating?’

‘No, Madame.’

‘She shall not.’

In their corner the ladies-in-waiting were smirking at me. Geneviève de Nanterre had led me to just where she’d wanted. She was cleverer than most of the noblewomen I’d painted. Because of that I found I wanted to please her. That could be dangerous.

‘I can’t go against Monseigneur’s wishes, Madame.’

Geneviève de Nanterre sat back in her chair. ‘Tell me, Nicolas – do you know who chose you to design these tapestries?’

‘No, Madame.’

‘I did.’

I stared at her. ‘Why, Madame?’

‘I’ve seen the miniatures you do of ladies in the Court. There is something about them that you capture which pleases me.’

‘What is that, Madame?’

‘Their spiritual nature.’

I bowed, surprised. ‘Thank you, Madame.’

‘Claude could do with more examples of that spiritual nature. I try, but she doesn’t listen to her mother.’

There was a pause. I shifted from one foot to the other. ‘What – what would you have me paint instead of a battle, Madame?’

Geneviève de Nanterre’s eyes gleamed. ‘A unicorn.’

I froze.

‘A lady and a unicorn,’ she added.

She must have heard me with Claude. She must have heard me or she wouldn’t have suggested it. Had she heard me seducing her daughter? I tried to guess from her face. She seemed pleased with herself, mischievous even. If she did know, she could tell Jean Le Viste about my attempt to seduce their daughter – if Claude hadn’t done so already – and the commission would be lost. Not only that – with a word Geneviève de Nanterre could ruin my reputation at Court and I would never paint another miniature.

I had no choice but to try to sweeten her. ‘Are you fond of unicorns, Madame?’

One of the ladies-in-waiting giggled. Geneviève de Nanterre frowned and the girl stopped. ‘I’ve never seen one, so how would I know? No, it’s Claude I am thinking of. She likes them, and it is she as the eldest child who will inherit the tapestries one day. She may as well have something she likes.’

I’d heard talk of the family sans heir, of how it must rankle Jean Le Viste not to have a son to pass on his beloved coat of arms to. The blame for having three daughters must lie heavily upon his wife. I looked at her a little more kindly.

‘What would you have the unicorn do, Madame?’

Geneviève de Nanterre waved a hand. ‘Suggest to me what he might do.’

‘He could be hunted. Monseigneur might like that.’