‘Can't go to the mistress looking like this, Mademoiselle — she'll know straight away what's wrong.’
‘I'll tell her, then, when she comes back from Nanterre.’ I did feel sorry for Marie-Céleste and wanted to help her.
Marie-Célestebrightened. ‘Oh, thankyou, Mademoiselle. That is good of you!’
‘You'd best be off as soon as you can.’
‘Thank you, Mademoiselle. Thank you. I'll see you when I come back.’ She turned to go, then turned back again. ‘If it's a girl I'll name her after you.’
‘That would be nice. If it's a boy will you name it after the father?’
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.�
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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.’
Maman? What did Léon mean?
Nicolas made a funny sound, like a snort and a cry together. ‘What do you mean, Claude and Dame Geneviève?’
‘Come, you know exactly what I mean. That was my other suggestion. The likenesses are too apparent. Jean Le Viste won't like that. I know you are used to painting portraits, but in the final paintings you must make them look more like the other ladies.’
‘Why?’
‘Jean Le Viste wanted battle tapestries. Instead you have given him his wife and daughter to look at. There is no comparison.’
‘He agreed to the unicorn tapestries.’
‘But you don't have to give him an ode to his wife and daughter. Now, I do have sympathy for Dame Geneviève. Jean Le Viste is not an easy man. But you know that she and Claude are thorns in his side. He wouldn't want them depicted in something as valuable as the tapestries.’
‘Oh!’ I cried, and this time I did knock my head against the tabletop. It hurt.
There were surprised grunts, then two faces appeared beneath the table. Léon was glaring, but Nicolas smiled when he saw it was me. He held out his hand and helped me up.
‘Thank you,’ I said when I was standing. Nicolas bowed over my hand, but I pulled my hand away before he could kiss it, and made a show of straightening my dress. I wasn't quite ready to forgive him the rude things he had said about my father.
‘What were you doing there, you naughty girl?’ Oncle Léon said. For a moment I thought he was going to swat me as if I were the same age as Petite Geneviève, but he seemed to remember himself and didn't. ‘Your father would be very angry if he knew you had been spying on us.’
‘My father would be very angry if he knew what you said about him, Oncle Léon. And you, Monsieur,’ I added, glancing at Nicolas.
There was a silence. I could see both men thinking back to their earlier words, trying to remember what would be offensive to Papa. They looked so worried that I couldn't help laughing.
Oncle Léon frowned at me. ‘Claude, you really are a very naughty girl.’ He sounded less stern this time — more as if he were trying to placate a little lapdog.
‘Oh, I know. And what about you, Monsieur — do you think I'm a very naughty girl?’ I said to Nicolas. It was wonderful to be able to see his handsome face.
I didn't know how he would answer, but he delighted me by saying, ‘You are certainly the naughtiest girl I know, Mademoiselle.’ For a second time his voice touched my maidenhead, and I felt wet there.
Oncle Léon snorted. ‘That's enough. Claude, you must go now. Your father will be here soon.’
‘No, I want to see the picture of my mother. Where is it?’ I turned to the drawings and pushed them about the table. They were a jumble of ladies and Le Viste banners and lions and unicorns.
‘Claude, please.’
I ignored Oncle Léon and turned to Nicolas. ‘Which one is it, Monsieur? I would like to see.’
Without a word he pulled a drawing from across the table to me.
I was relieved to see that Maman was not so pretty as me in the drawing. Nor was her dress so fine as mine, but much plainer. And the wind wasn't blowing through the drawing — the banner wasn't rippling, and the lion and unicorn sat tamely rather than standing rampant as they did in mine. In fact, everything in it was very still, except that Maman was pulling a necklace from a casket held by one of her ladies-in-waiting. I didn't mind now that Maman was in the tapestries as well — the comparison favoured me.
But if Oncle Léon had his way neither of our faces would remain. I would have to do something. What, though? Although I had threatened Léon with repeating his words to my father, in truth I knew that Papa wouldn't listen to me. It was terrible to hear Maman and me referred to as thorns, but Léon was right — Maman had not produced an heir, for my sisters and I were not boys. Every time Papa looked at us he was reminded that all of his wealth would one day go to my husband and son, who would not carry the Le Viste name or coat of arms. Knowing this had made him even colder with us. I knew too from Béatrice that Papa did not share Maman's bed.
Nicolas tried to save Maman and me. ‘I will only change their faces if Monseigneur asks me to,’ he declared. ‘Not if you do. I make changes for the patron, not the patron's merchant.’
Oncle Léon glared at him, but before he could respond we heard footsteps in the hallway. ‘Go!’ Léon hissed, but it was too late for me to escape. Nicolas put his hand on my head and gently pushed me down so that I was kneeling. For a moment my face was close to his bulging groin. I looked up and saw him smiling. Then he shoved me under the table.
It felt even colder and harder and darker under the table this time, but I wouldn't have to endure it for long. Papa's feet came straight to the table, where he stood next to Léon, with Nicolas to one side. I sat looking at Nicolas' legs. He seemed to be standing differently now that he knew I was there, though I could not say what exactly was different. It was as if his legs had eyes and were watching me.
Papa's legs were like himself — straight and indifferent as a chair's. ‘Now, the designs,’ he said.
Someone was scrabbling among the drawings, moving them around the table. ‘Here they are, Monseigneur,’ Nicolas said. ‘As you see, you can look at them in this order. First the Lady dons her necklace for the seduction of the unicorn. In the next she plays the organ to get the unicorn's attention. And here she is — feeding a parakeet — and the unicorn has moved closer, though he is rampant and his head is still turned away. He is almost seduced, but needs more temptation.’
I noted the pause before Nicolas said ‘feeding’. So, I have become Taste, I thought. Then taste me.
‘Then the Lady weaves a crown of carnations in preparation for a wedding. Her own wedding. As you can see, the unicorn is now sitting calmly. At last — ’ Nicolas tapped the table — ‘the unicorn lies in her lap and they look at each other. And in the final tapestry she has tamed him — she holds him by the horn. You can see that the animals in the background are now in chains — they have become the slaves of love.’
When Nicolas finished there was a silence, as if he expected my father to speak. But Papa said nothing. He often does that, keeping quiet to make people unsure of themselves. It worked this time too, for after a moment Nicolas began to speak again, sounding nervous.
‘You can see, Monseigneur, that throughout the unicorn is accompanied by the lion, who represents nobility, strength and courage as a complement to the unicorn's purity and wildness. The lion is an example of noble savagery tamed.’
‘Of course the background will be filled with millefleurs, Monseigneur,’ Léon added. ‘The Brussels weavers will design that themselves — that is their speciality. Nicolas has only hinted at it here.’
There was another pause. I found I was holding my breath, waiting to see if Papa would remark on the drawings of Maman and me. ‘There are not enough coats of arms,’ he said at last.
‘The unicorn and lion hold Le Viste banners and standards throughout,’ Nicolas said. He sounded annoyed. I reached over and nudged his leg to remind him not to use such a tone with my father. Nicolas shuffled his feet.
‘In two of the drawings there is only a banner,’ Papa said.
‘I could add shields for the lion and unicorn to carry, Monseigneur.’ Nicolas must have taken my hint, for he sounded calmer. I began to stroke his calf.
‘The standard and banner poles should be spiked,’ Papa declared. ‘Not the round ends you have drawn.’
‘But — spikes are for battles, Monseigneur.’ Nicolas spoke as if someone were strangling him. I giggled and moved my hand up to his thigh.
Luckily Nicolas didn't have to answer, as he couldn't have spoken. I had placed my hand on his bulge, which was as hard as a tree branch. I had never touched one before. ‘Doesn't the Lady lead him to the hunter who kills him?’ Papa continued. He likes to answer his own questions. ‘You should add another tapestry to complete the story.’
‘I believe there is no room in the Grande Salle for another tapestry,’ Oncle Léon said.
‘Then replace one of these women. The one with the carnations, or the one feeding the bird.’
I dropped my hand.
‘That is a very good idea, Monseigneur,’ Oncle Léon said. I gasped. Luckily Nicolas made a noise too, so I don't think Papa heard me.
Then Oncle Léon showed just why he is so good at business. ‘It is a fine idea,’ he repeated. ‘Of course the boldness of the kill will contrast well with the more subtle hints of the battle poles. One would not want to be too cunning at the end, would one?’
‘What do you mean, too cunning?’
‘Well, for instance, one might simply imply the hunt — or the battle, if you like — with the spiked poles (a fine touch, Monseigneur, I must say), the battle shields Nicolas has suggested adding, and perhaps something else. Let me think. What about a tent — the kind set up in battles for the King? That would also remind one of the King as well as the battle. But then again, perhaps that would be too subtle. Perhaps a hunter killing the unicorn would be better.’
‘No, I want the King's tent.’
I sat back on my heels in wonder at Oncle Léon. He had hooked Papa like a fish, without Papa even noticing, and brought him to land just where he pleased.
‘The tent would be quite large and so should go on one of the larger tapestries,’ Léon said briskly, to keep Papa from changing his mind. ‘The Lady with the jewels or the Lady with the parakeet. Which would you prefer, Monseigneur?’
The Lady and the Unicorn Page 4