The Lady and the Unicorn

by Tracy Chevalier

  I shrugged, though I did smile to myself — Aliénor had got what she wanted from me. ‘I haven't been to Brussels since last May — how could I know?’

  ‘Not been to Brussels for nine months, eh?’ Léon Le Vieux shook his head. ‘Never mind — she has married the cartoonist.’

  ‘Ah.’ I was more surprised than I let on. Philippe was not as shy with women as I'd thought. It had helped introducing him to that whore, certainly. Still, I was glad for Aliénor. Philippe was a good man, and he was not Jacques Le Bœuf.

  ‘You haven't said what you think of the tapestries,’ I said. ‘You who want your women to be real. Have I — have we changed your mind, me and Georges, and Philippe too?’

  Léon looked around the room again, then shrugged with a little smile. ‘There is something about them I have not seen before, nor felt before. You've created a whole world for them to live in, though it is not like our world.’

  ‘Are you tempted?’

  ‘By them? Non.’

  I chuckled. ‘So we have not converted you after all. The Ladies are not as powerful as I thought.’

  There was a noise outside the door, and Jean Le Viste and Geneviève de Nanterre entered the Grande Salle. I quickly bowed to hide my surprise, for I had not expected to see her. When I raised my head she was smiling at me as she had the day I'd met her, when I'd first flirted with Claude — smiling as if she already knew what was in my head.

  ‘So, painter, what do you think of them?’ Jean Le Viste asked. I wondered if he had forgotten my name. Before I could speak he added, ‘Are they hung at the right height? I thought they should be another arm's length off the floor, but Léon says they look fine as they are.’

  It was just as well that I hadn't spoken, for now I grasped that he didn't want to talk of the tapestries' beauty or the weavers' skill, but rather of how they graced his room. I studied the tapestries for a moment. They came to within a hand's length of the floor. That put the Ladies just a little above us. Any higher and they would tower over us.

  I turned to Geneviève de Nanterre. ‘What do you think, Madame? Should the Lady be higher?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘That is not necessary.’

  I nodded. ‘I think, Monseigneur, we are agreed that the room looks very impressive as it is.’

  Jean Le Viste shrugged. ‘It will suit the occasion.’ He turned to go.

  I couldn't resist. ‘Please, Monseigneur, which tapestry do you like best?’

  Jean Le Viste stopped and gazed about him as if he had only just realized the tapestries were to be looked at. He frowned. ‘This one,’ he said, gesturing at Sound. ‘The flag is very fine, and the lion noble. Come,’ he said to Léon Le Vieux.

  ‘I'm staying a moment to have a word with Nicolas des Innocents,’ Geneviève de Nanterre announced. Jean Le Viste hardly seemed to hear, but strode to the door with Léon Le Vieux at his heels. The old man glanced at me before he left, as if to remind me of his earlier warning to behave. I smiled at the thought. I was with the wrong woman for making mischief.

  When they were gone Geneviève de Nanterre chuckled softly. ‘My husband has no favourite. He chose the tapestry nearest to hand — did you see? And it's not the finest — the Lady's hands are awkward, and the pattern of the tablecloth is too square and harsh.’

  Clearly she had studied the tapestries carefully. At least she hadn't said that the unicorn was fat.

  ‘Which tapestry do you like best, Madame?’

  She pointed. ‘That one.’ I was surprised that she chose Touch — I had expected her to prefer À Mon Seul Désir. After all, she was the Lady.

  ‘Why that one, Madame?’

  ‘She is very clear, that Lady — clear in her soul. She's standing in a doorway, on the threshold between one life and another, and she's looking forward with happy eyes. She knows what will happen to her.’

  I thought of what had inspired me to paint the Lady that way — of Christine standing in the doorway to the workshop, pleased that she would be weaving. It was so different from what Geneviève de Nanterre had just described that I had to suppress the urge to correct her.

  ‘What about the Lady here, Madame?’ I pointed to the Lady in À Mon Seul Désir. ‘Doesn't she also leave one world for another?’

  Geneviève de Nanterre was silent.

  ‘I painted her especially for you, Madame, so that the tapestries aren't just about a seduction, but about the soul too. Do you see — you can start with this tapestry, of the Lady putting on her necklace, and go around the room to follow her seduction of the unicorn. Or you can go the other way, with the Lady bidding farewell to each different sense, and end with this tapestry, where she takes off her necklace to put it away — to let go of the physical life. Do you see that I've done that for you, Madame? When the Lady holds her jewels as she does, we don't know if she is putting them on or taking them off. It can be either. That is the secret I've made for you in the tapestries.’

  Geneviève de Nanterre shook her head. ‘The Lady looks as if she hasn't decided which she prefers — the seduction or the soul. I know which I prefer, and I would like to see her choice clearly made. Tiens, it's better that the tapestries are of the seduction of the unicorn — they will go to my daughter eventually. The seduction will please her.’ She gazed at me and I blushed.

  ‘I'm sorry you don't like them, Madame.’ I was indeed sorry. I thought I'd been very clever, but my cleverness had tripped me up.

  Geneviève de Nanterre turned around, taking in all of the tapestries once more. ‘They are very beautiful, and that is enough. Certainly Jean is pleased, even if he doesn't show it, and Claude will love them. To thank you for them I would like you to join us tomorrow night for the feast here.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, the Feast of St Valentine. The day birds choose their mates.’

  ‘So they say.’

  ‘We shall see you here, then.’ She gave me a look before turning from me.

  I bowed to her back. One of her ladies peeked around the doorway, and joined her mistress as they left.

  I was alone with the tapestries then. I stood for a long time in the room, looking and wondering why they now made me melancholy.

  I had not been to a nobleman's feast before. Painters aren't usually invited to such things. Indeed, I wasn't sure why Geneviève de Nanterre had asked me to come. Quickly and at great expense I had a new tunic made — black velvet with yellow trim — and a cap to match. I cleaned my boots and washed myself, though the water was icy. At least when I arrived at the torch-lit house on the rue du Four, squires let me in without blinking, as if I were a noble among others. In my room I'd thought my new tunic and cap very smart — and had been cheered by the men and women in Le Coq d'Or — but as I walked towards the Grande Salle among the rich dresses of the ladies and men around me, I felt like a peasant.

  Three girls ran in and out of the crowd. The eldest was Claude's sister Jeanne, who had been looking into the well in the courtyard the day I first met Claude. The second resembled her and must be the youngest Le Viste girl. The smallest came up only to my knee and looked nothing like a Le Viste, though she was pretty in her way, with dark red ringlets all in a mess at her neck. In the crowd she got tangled in my legs and as I set her straight she scowled up at me under a heavy brow in a way that seemed familiar. She ran off before I could ask her name.

  The room was crowded with guests, with jongleurs playing and dancing and tumbling, with squires bringing around wine and titbits — pickled quails' eggs, pork cutlets, meatballs decorated with dried flowers, even raspberries usually impossible to find in winter.

  Jean Le Viste stood at one end of the room, by the tapestry of Smell, dressed in a red fur-trimmed gown among other men wearing the same. They would be discussing King and Court, matters I was never much concerned with. I preferred Geneviève de Nanterre's end of the room, where I could watch the ladies in their brocades and their furs of mink and fox and rabbit. The mistress of the house herself was dressed qu
ite simply in sky-blue silk and grey rabbit fur, and stood beside À Mon Seul Désir.

  The tapestries were much admired, but though they made the room warm and softened the sound of so many people, they were not so striking in loud company as when I had been alone with them. I could see now that a battle with its clamour of horses and men would have better suited a feast room, whereas these ought to be hung in a lady's chamber. Jean Le Viste had been right after all.

  I tried not to think about this too much, but drank as much spiced wine as the men pouring it would serve me. At first I stood alone and watched the tumblers and the ladies dancing, and ate a roasted fig. Then a noblewoman I'd once painted called me to her. After that it was easier, to talk and laugh and drink as I would if I were at the tavern.

  When Claude entered wearing red velvet, surrounded by ladies — Béatrice among them — I felt my shoulders loosen and my arms flap at my sides like pieces of twine. Of course I had been waiting for her to appear — even as I drank and flirted and ate my fig and even danced a galliard with a merry lady. Of course she would come. That was why I was here.

  The room was crowded and I didn't think she saw me. At least she gave no sign. She was thinner and bonier than when I'd seen her last. Her eyes were still like quinces but they were not as lively as they had been. They fastened onto her ladies rather than following the dancers, or she looked at something distant — perhaps at one of the millefleurs in Smell or in Taste across the room from her, though not at the Lady herself.

  Béatrice did see me, and looked boldly with her dark eyes. She too was thinner. She didn't lean over to her mistress and whisper and point, but stared at me until I looked away.

  I didn't try to go up to Claude. I knew it would be futile — someone would get in my way, the steward would be called to march me away and throw me into the street, perhaps with another beating. I knew this without being told. Now I knew why Geneviève de Nanterre had invited me — I had been brought here to be punished.

  Soon the music and dancing stopped, and trumpets sounded for the meal to begin. Claude joined her parents and some others at the high table — the oak table I had once stood on to measure the walls. The rest of the guests sat along trestle tables down the sides of the room. I found myself at the very end — the lowest place, furthest from Claude. Just behind me hung Taste. Across from me hung Sight with Aliénor's sweet, sad face keeping me company.

  A priest from Saint-Germain-des-Prés came to lead us in prayer. Then Jean Le Viste stood and held up his hand. He did not honey his words but spoke bluntly, so that when I heard it the wound was clean and deep. ‘We are gathered here to announce my eldest daughter Claude's betrothal to Geoffroy de Balzac, valet de chambre of the King. We will be proud to call a member of such an honourable family our son.’ He held out his hand and a young man with a brown beard stood up from the high table and bowed slightly to Jean Le Viste and to Claude, who kept her eyes fixed on the table before her. Geneviève de Nanterre did not bow her head, but looked down along the trestle table to me perched at the end. Now you are having your punishment, her look said. I dropped my eyes to my trencher, and saw that the bread had been carved with the initials CLV and GDB intertwined. Birds finding their mates indeed.

  After that I did not listen to what Jean Le Viste said, though I raised my cup when everyone else did in toasts that I didn't hear. When the trumpets sounded the squires brought in the roast fowl — a peacock fanning his tail before the female, a pair of pheasants with their wings arranged as if they were about to fly away, two swans with their necks entwined. I took in these sights without pleasure, and didn't reach with my knife for a taste. My neighbours must have thought me dull company indeed.

  As a boar covered with gold leaf was brought in, I knew I wouldn't stay to see the many courses announced, the drink and the food and the spectacle going on and on all night and into the next day. I had no taste for the feast. I stood and after a last glance at the tapestries — for I knew I would not see them again — I slipped away to the door. To get there I had to pass the high table, and as I did a movement caught my eye. Claude had brought her hand down on the table suddenly and her knife clattered to the floor. ‘Oh!’ she cried. One of her ladies went to fetch it but she stopped her with a laugh — the first merriment I had seen in her all evening. ‘I'll get it,’ she said and dived under the table. I couldn't see her — the white tablecloth painted with Le Viste coats of arms fell to the floor, shielding everything behind it.

  I waited a moment. No one seemed to notice me. Béat-rice was standing behind her mistress's chair, talking to a man who was serving Geoffroy de Balzac. Geneviève de Nanterre was speaking to her future son-in-law. Jean Le Viste was looking my way but seemed to see straight through me. Already he didn't remember who I was. When he called over his shoulder for more wine I pulled my cap from my head and let it fall, then went on my knees to retrieve it. In a second I had hiked up the cloth and was under the table.

  Claude was sitting in a ball, arms around her legs, chin on her knees. She smiled at me.

  ‘Do you always have your rendezvous under tables, Mademoiselle?’ I asked as I put my cap back on.

  ‘Tables are very handy for hiding under.’

  ‘Is that where you've hidden all this time, beauty? Under a table?’

  Claude stopped smiling. ‘You know where I've been. You never came for me.’ She turned her cheek to her knee so that her face was hidden. All I could see was her red velvet head-dress, beaded with pearls, her hair carefully tucked away under it.

  ‘I didn't know where you were. How could I?’

  Claude turned her face back to me. ‘Yes, you did. Marie-Céleste said —’ she stopped, doubt spreading over her brow.

  ‘Marie-Céleste? I haven't seen her since the day I last saw you — when I was being beaten. Did you send a message with her?’

  Claude nodded.

  ‘I never got it. She lied to you if she said I got it.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Damn her. Why would she lie?’

  Claude rested her head on her knees. ‘She has her reasons. I was not so kind to her before.’

  A greyhound strayed under the table, rooting around for scraps, and Claude reached over to pat it. When her sleeve fell back from her wrist I saw that it had been scraped raw, as if by angry fingernails that wanted cutting. I reached over and gently clasped her wrist. ‘What has happened here, beauty? Have you hurt yourself?’

  Claude pulled her wrist away. ‘Sometimes it is the only thing that makes me feel. Well,’ she continued, scratching at the wounds, ‘it doesn't matter, really. You couldn't have got me out.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘In a place that is a paradise to Maman and a prison to me. But that is what a lady's life is, I've found.’

  ‘Don't say that. You're not imprisoned now. Come with me. Run away from your fiance.’

  For a moment Claude's face lit up like the sun on the Seine, but as she thought about it more her face went dark again, like the river's normal muddy colour. Wherever she had been had changed her spirit. It was a sad thing to see.

  ‘What about mon seul désir?’ I asked softly. ‘Have you forgotten that?’

  Claude sighed. ‘I have no desire now. That was Maman's.’ The dog sniffed at her lap and she cupped her hands around its face. ‘Thank you for the tapestries,’ she added, gazing into the dog's eyes. ‘Has anyone thanked you? They're beautiful, though they make me sad.’

  ‘Why, beauty?’

  She looked at me. ‘They remind me of what I was like before, all light and happy and free. Only the one where the unicorn lies in her lap is like me now — that Lady is sad and knows something of the world. I prefer her to the others.’

  I sighed. I seemed to have got all the Ladies wrong.

  The tablecloth rippled then and the tiny red-haired girl crawled under the table. She had found the dog's tail and followed it back to its source. She showed no interest in us but patted the dog's back with both hands, sq
ueezing its ribs. The dog didn't seem to notice — it had found a lamb bone and was gnawing on it.

  ‘Mind you, I did find one good thing in the prison.’ Claude nodded at the girl. ‘I brought her back with me. Nicolette, take the dog away. Béatrice will find him a bigger bone. Go, now.’ She gave the dog's rump a shove.

  The girl and dog ignored her.

  ‘She will be one of my ladies-in-waiting when she's grown,’ Claude added. ‘Of course she'll need training, but that's a long time away yet. She's still a baby, really.’

  I stared at the girl. ‘Her name is Nicolette?’

  Claude laughed as she had once done — a girlish laugh full of promise. ‘I renamed her. We couldn't have two Claudes at the convent, could we?’

  She laughed again when I jerked my head so hard I banged it against the top of the table. I looked at the girl who was my daughter and then at Claude, who gazed at me with her clear eyes. For a moment I felt the old surge of desire push me towards her, and reached across to her.

  I never found out if Claude would have let me touch her. Once more — as she had the last time Claude and I were under a table together — Béatrice poked her head into our hiding place. It was her role to come between us. She didn't even look surprised to see me. She'd probably been listening the whole time, as ladies-in-waiting do. ‘Mademoiselle, your mother wants you,’ she said.

  Claude made a face but got to her knees. ‘Adieu, Nicolas,’ she said with a small smile. Then she nodded at Nicolette. ‘And don't worry — I'll keep her with me always. Won't I, ma petite?’ She scrambled out from the table, Nicolette and the dog following her.

  Béatrice was looking at me. ‘I've got you,’ she said. ‘I had to live nine months in Hell because of you. I made messages go astray because of you. I'm not going to let you go now.’ She pulled her head away and disappeared.

  I remained on my knees under the table, puzzling over her words. At last, though, I too crawled out from my hiding place and stood up. No one noticed me. Jean Le Viste had left the table and was talking to Geoffroy de Balzac, his back to me. Geneviève de Nanterre was standing with Claude at the other end of the table. Béatrice was whispering in her ear.