Tracy Chevalier - The Lady and the Unicorn

Marie-Céleste narrowed her eyes. ‘Never,’ she sneered. ‘He don’t want nothing to do with it, so I don’t want nothing to do with him!’

After she left I had a look around Papa’s chamber. It is not a comfortable room. The oak chairs have no cushions on them, and they creak when you shift about. I think Papa has them made like that so no one will meet with him for long. I’ve noticed that Oncle Léon always stands when he comes to see Papa. The walls are lined with maps of his properties – the Château d’Arcy, our house on the rue du Four, the Le Viste family house in Lyons – as well as maps of disputes Papa is working on for the King. The books he owns are kept here in a locked case.

There are two tables in the room – one that Papa writes at, and a bigger one where he spreads maps and papers for meetings. Usually that table is bare, but today some large sheets of paper had been left there. I looked down at the top one and stepped back in surprise. It was a drawing, and it was of me. I was standing between a lion and a unicorn, holding a parakeet on my gloved finger. I was wearing a beautiful dress and necklace, with a simple headscarf that left my hair loose. I was glancing sideways at the unicorn and smiling as if I were thinking of a secret. The unicorn was handsome, plump and white and rearing up on his hind legs, with a long spiralling horn. He had turned his head from me, as if trying not to become spellbound by my beauty. He was wearing a little cloak with the Le Viste arms on it, and the wind seem to whip through the drawing, blowing out his cloak and the roaring lion’s as well, and my headscarf and the Le Viste standard held by the lion.

I gazed at the drawing for a long time. I couldn’t take my eyes from it or move it to see the drawings underneath. He had drawn me. He was thinking of me as I was of him. My breasts tingled. Mon seul désir .

Then I heard voices in the hall. The door swung open and all I could think to do was drop to the floor and scramble under the table. It was dark under there, and strange to be on the cold stone floor alone. Normally I would hide in such a place with my sisters, and we would giggle so much we would be found out immediately. I sat with my arms wrapped round my knees, praying that I couldn’t be seen.

Two men entered and came straight over to the table. One wore the long brown robes of a merchant, and must be Oncle Léon. The other wore a grey tunic to his knees and dark blue hose. His calves were shapely, and I knew even before he spoke that it was Nicolas. I had not just spent so many days thinking of him for naught. All of my thoughts had filled in the details of him – the width of his shoulders, the curls of his hair brushing his neck, his bottom like two cherries, and the taut line of his calves.

My thoughts would have to fill in more details now, for as the men began to speak I could see nothing of them but their legs. I could only imagine the looks on Nicolas’ face – his smooth brow crinkling, his pinched eyes staring at me in the drawing, his long fingers tracing the rough drawing paper. All this I filled in as I sat in near-darkness, listening to them.

‘Monseigneur will be along in a moment,’ Oncle Léon said. ‘Let us consider a few things while we wait.’ I could hear paper rustling.

‘Did he like the designs?’ Nicolas asked. ‘Was he full of praise?’ The sound of his confident voice went straight to my maidenhead, as if he had touched me there.

Léon didn’t answer, and Nicolas became insistent. ‘He must have said something. Surely you can see that these are superior drawings. He must be overjoyed with them.’

Léon chuckled. ‘It is not in his nature for Monseigneur Le Viste to be overjoyed by anything.’

‘But he must have approved of them.’

‘You are getting ahead of yourself, Nicolas. In this business you wait for the patron to give his opinion. Alors , you must prepare yourself to meet Monseigneur. The first thing you must understand is that he hasn’t looked at the drawings.’

‘But he’s had them for a week!’

‘Yes, and he will say he has studied them carefully, but he hasn’t looked at them.’

‘Why not, in the name of the Notre Dame?’

‘Monseigneur Le Viste is very busy now. He does not consider something until he needs to. Then he makes a quick decision and expects to be obeyed without question.’

Nicolas snorted. ‘This is how a nobleman like him does business for such an important commission? I wonder if a man of true noble blood would work this way.’

Oncle Léon lowered his voice. ‘Jean Le Viste is only too aware of such opinions of him.’ I could hear the frown in his voice. ‘He uses hard work and loyalty to his King to compensate for the lack of respect even artists like you who work for him have.’

‘My respect is not so slight that I am not willing to work for him,’ Nicolas said rather hastily.

‘Of course not. One must be practical. A sou is a sou , whether from a nobleman or a beggar.’

Both men laughed. I tossed my head, almost knocking it against the tabletop. I did not like their laughter. I’m not close to Papa – he is a cold man with me as with everyone – but I didn’t like his name and reputation thrown about like a stick for a dog to fetch. And Oncle Léon – I hadn’t thought he could be disloyal. I would be sure to tread on his foot next time I saw him. Or worse.

‘I won’t deny the designs are promising—’ he said now.

‘Promising! They’re more than promising!’

‘If you would keep quiet for a moment, I’ll help you to make these tapestries far better than they are – better than even you could imagine them to be. You’re too close to your own creation to see what will make it better. You need another eye to look and see the flaws.’

‘What flaws?’ Nicolas echoed what I thought. What could possibly make the drawing of me better than it was?

‘There are two things I have thought on looking at the designs, and doubtless Jean Le Viste will have other suggestions.’

‘What two things?’

‘There are to be six tapestries lining the walls of the Grande Salle, n’est-ce pas ? Two large ones, four slightly smaller.’

‘Yes.’

‘And they’re following the Lady’s seduction of the unicorn, n’est-ce pas ?’

‘As I agreed with Monseigneur.’

‘The seduction is clear enough, but I wondered if you have not concealed something else within the designs. Another way of looking at them.’

Nicolas’ feet shifted about. ‘What do you mean?’

‘There seem to me to be here suggestions of the five senses.’ Léon tapped on one of the drawings, the sound drumming close to my ear. ‘The Lady playing the organ for the unicorn, suggesting Sound, for instance. And holding the unicorn by the horn is surely Touch. Here—’ he tapped the table again ‘—the Lady weaves carnations into a crown for Smell, though that is perhaps not as obvious.’

‘Brides wear crowns of carnations,’ Nicolas explained. ‘The Lady is tempting the unicorn with the idea of marriage and the marriage bed. It’s not meant to mean Smell.’

‘Ah. Well, I suppose you’re not that clever. The senses are an accident, then.’

‘I—’

‘But do you see that you could easily weave in the senses? Have the unicorn sniff the carnation. Or another animal. And in the tapestry where the unicorn lies in the Lady’s lap, you could have her show him a mirror, for Sight.’

‘But that would make the unicorn seem vain, wouldn’t it?’

‘So? The unicorn does look a bit vain.’

Nicolas didn’t answer. Perhaps he heard me under the table, snorting with laughter at him and his unicorn.

‘Now, you have the Lady holding the unicorn’s horn, that is Touch. Playing the organ, that is Sound. The carnations, that is Smell. The mirror, that is Sight. What is left? Taste. We have two tapestries left – those of Claude and Dame Geneviève.’