Tracy Chevalier - The Lady and the Unicorn

‘It’s a pity about Marie-Céleste, but I’ve given her money and she’ll be all right. Now, I must get that pole.’

The steward grunted. As I turned to go, he muttered, ‘You watch your back, pisspot.’

I found a pole in the stables and was carrying it across the courtyard when Jean Le Viste himself came striding out of the house. He swept by without even looking at me – he must have thought I was just another servant – and I called out, ‘Monseigneur! A moment, please!’ If I didn’t say something now I might never get another chance alone with him.

Jean Le Viste turned to see who was calling, then grunted and kept walking. I ran to catch up with him. ‘Please, Monseigneur, I would like to discuss the tapestries further.’

‘You should talk to Léon, not me.’

‘Yes, Monseigneur, but I felt that for something as important as these tapestries you should be consulted directly.’ As I hurried after him, the end of the pole dipped and caught on a stone, tumbling from my hands and clattering to the ground. The whole courtyard rang with the sound. Jean Le Viste stopped and glared at me.

‘I am concerned, Monseigneur,’ I said hastily. ‘Concerned that you should have hung on your walls what others would expect from such a prominent member of Court. From a President of the Cour des Aides, no less.’ I was making up words as I went along.

‘What’s your point? I am busy here.’

‘I have seen designs for a number of tapestries this past year commissioned by noble families from my fellow artists. All of these tapestries have one thing in common – a millefleur background.’ This much was true – backgrounds of a dense pattern of flowers were popular now, particularly as weavers in the north perfected the technique.

‘Flowers?’ Jean Le Viste repeated, looking down at his feet as if he had just trampled upon some.

‘Yes, Monseigneur.’

‘There are no flowers in battles.’

‘No, Monseigneur. They have not been weaving battles. Several of my colleagues have designed scenes with – with unicorns in them, Monseigneur.’

‘Unicorns?’

‘Yes, Monseigneur.’

Jean Le Viste looked so sceptical that I quickly added another lie that I could only hope he wouldn’t discover. ‘Several noble families are having them made – Jean d’Alençon, Charles de St Émilion, Philippe de Chartres.’ I tried to name families Jean Le Viste was unlikely to visit – they either lived too far away, or were too noble for the Le Vistes, or not noble enough.

‘They are not having battles made,’ Jean Le Viste repeated.

‘No, Monseigneur.’

‘Unicorns.’

‘Yes, Monseigneur. They are à la mode now. And it did occur to me that a unicorn might be appropriate for your family.’ I described Béatrice’s pun.

Jean Le Viste didn’t change expression, but he nodded, and that was enough. ‘Do you know what to have this unicorn do?’

‘Yes, Monseigneur, I do.’

‘All right, then. Tell Léon. And bring me the drawings before Easter.’ Jean Le Viste turned to cross the courtyard. I bowed to his back.

It hadn’t been so hard to convince him as I’d thought. I had been right that Jean Le Viste would want what he thought everyone else had. But then, that is nobility without the generations of blood behind it – they imitate rather than invent. It didn’t occur to Jean Le Viste that he might gain more respect by commissioning battle tapestries when no one else had. As sure of himself as he seemed, he wouldn’t strike out on his own. As long as he didn’t find out that there were no other unicorn tapestries, I would be safe. Of course I would have to design the finest tapestries possible – tapestries that would make other families want their own, and make Jean Le Viste proud to have been the first to own such a thing.

It wasn’t just him I wanted to please, though, but his wife and daughter too. I wasn’t sure which mattered more to me – Claude’s lovely face or Geneviève’s sad one. Perhaps there was room for both in the unicorn’s wood.

That night I drank at Le Coq d’Or to celebrate the commission, and afterwards slept poorly. I dreamt of unicorns and ladies surrounded by flowers, a girl chewing on a clove, another gazing at herself in a well, a lady holding jewels by a small casket, a girl feeding a falcon. It was all in a jumble that I could not set straight. It was not a nightmare, though, but a longing.

When I woke the next morning, my head was clear and I was ready to make the dreams real.

Maman asked Papa about the tapestries after Mass on Easter Sunday, and that was when I heard the artist was coming back. We were all walking back to the rue du Four, and Jeanne and Petite Geneviève wanted me to run ahead with them and jump over puddles, but I stayed back to listen. I am good at listening when I’m not meant to.

Maman is always careful not to bother Papa, but he seemed to be in good spirits – probably glad like me to be out in the sun after such a long Mass! When she asked he said that he already had the drawings and that Nicolas des Innocents would be coming soon to discuss them. Until now he has said little about the tapestries. Even admitting that much seemed to irritate him. I think he regrets changing the battle into a unicorn – Papa loves his battles and his King. He left us abruptly then, saying he had to speak to the steward. I caught Béatrice’s eye and we both giggled, making Maman frown at us.

Thank Heaven for Béatrice! She has told me everything – the switch from battle to unicorn, her own clever pun on Viste , and best of all, Nicolas’ name. Maman would never tell me any of it, and the door of her room is too thick – I couldn’t hear a thing when he was in with her, except for Béatrice’s laugh. Luckily Béatrice tells me things – soon I will have her for my own lady-in-waiting. Maman can spare her, and she would much rather be with me – she will have much more fun.

Maman is so tedious these days – all she wants to do is to pray. She insists on going to Mass twice a day now. Sometimes I have dancing lessons during Terce or Sext, but she does take me to Vespers for the music, and I get so restless I want to scream. When I sit in Saint-Germain-des-Prés my foot starts to jiggle and the women on my pew can feel it but don’t know where it’s from – except for Béatrice, who places her hand on my leg to calm me. The first time she did that I jumped and shrieked, I was so surprised. Maman leaned over and glared at me, and the priest turned around too. I had to stuff my sleeve in my mouth to keep from laughing.

I seem to irritate Maman now, though I don’t know what bothers her so. She irritates me too – she’s always telling me I’m laughing too much or walking too fast, or that my dress is dusty or my head-dress is not straight. She treats me like a girl yet expects me to be a woman too. She won’t let me go out when I want – she says I’m too old to play at the Fair at Saint-Germain-des-Prés during the day and too young for it at night. I’m not too young – other girls of fourteen go to the fair to see the jongleurs at night. Many are already betrothed. When I ask, Maman tells me I’m disrespectful and must wait for Papa to decide when and what man I shall marry. I grow so frustrated. If I am to be a woman, where is my man?