The Lady and the Unicorn. Tracy Chevalier

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

       CLAUDE LE VISTE

      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?

      Yesterday I tried to listen to Maman’s confession at Saint-Germain-des-Prés to find out if she felt bad about being so spiteful to me. I hid behind a pillar near the pew where she sat with the priest but her voice was so low that I had to creep quite close. All I heard was ‘Ça c’est mon seul désir’ before one of the priests saw me and chased me away. ‘Mon seul désir,’ I murmured to myself. My one desire. The phrase is so bewitching that I repeat it to myself all day long.

      Once I was sure that Nicolas would be coming I knew I had to see him. C’est mon seul désir. Hah! There is my man. I’ve thought about him every hour of every day since I met him. Of course I’ve said nothing to anyone, except for Béatrice, who to my surprise was not very kind about him. That is her one fault. I was describing his eyes – how they are brown as chestnuts and pinched at the corners so that he looks a little sad even when he clearly is not. ‘He’s not worthy of you,’ Béatrice interrupted. ‘He’s just an artist, and not trustworthy at that. You should be thinking of lords instead.’

      ‘If he were untrustworthy, my father would never have hired him,’ I retorted. ‘Oncle Léon wouldn’t have allowed it.’ Léon is not really my uncle, but an old merchant who looks after my father’s business. He treats me like a niece – until recently he chucked me under the chin and brought me sweetmeats, but now he tells me to stand straight and comb my hair. ‘Tell me what sort of husband you’d like and I’ll see if there’s one ripe at market,’ he likes to say. Wouldn’t he be surprised if I described Nicolas! He doesn’t think much of the artist, I’m sure – I overheard him with Papa, trying to undo Nicolas’ unicorns, saying they wouldn’t be right for the Grande Salle. Papa’s door is not so thick, and if I put my ear right up to the keyhole I can hear him. Papa won’t change his mind again, though. I could have told Léon that. To change once was bad enough, but to switch back now would be unthinkable.

      Once I knew that Nicolas would be coming to the rue du Four, I went straight to the steward to find out exactly when. As usual, the steward was in the stores, counting things. He is always worried we are being robbed. He looked even more horrified than Béatrice when I said Nicolas’ name. ‘You don’t want anything to do with that lot, Mademoiselle,’ he said.

      ‘I’m simply asking when he is coming.’ I smiled sweetly. ‘If you don’t tell me I shall just have to go to Papa and say that you have not been helpful to me.’

      The steward grimaced. ‘Thursday at Sext,’ he muttered. ‘Him and Léon too.’

      ‘You see, that wasn’t so bad. You should always tell me what I want to know, and I’ll be happy.’

      The steward bowed but kept looking at me as I turned to go. It seemed he was about to say something, but then he didn’t. That struck me as comical and I laughed as I ran away.

      Thursday I was meant to go with Maman and my sisters to grandmother’s at Nanterre for the night, but I pretended to have a bellyache so that I could stay at home. When Jeanne heard I wasn’t going she wanted to pretend along with me, even though she didn’t know why I was really staying behind. I couldn’t tell her about Nicolas – she is too young to understand. She hung about until I had to say nasty things to her, which made her cry and run off. Afterwards I felt awful – I shouldn’t treat my sister so. She and I have been close all our lives. Until recently we shared the same bed, and Jeanne cried then too when I said I wanted to begin sleeping alone. But I am so restless at night now. I kick off the covers and roll about, and even the thought of having another body in the bed – apart from Nicolas’ – annoys me.

      Now Jeanne has to be more with Petite Geneviève, who is sweet but only seven, and Jeanne has always preferred to be with older girls. Also Petite Geneviève is Maman’s favourite, and that is irritating to Jeanne. Of course she has Maman’s lovely name, while Jeanne and I have names that remind us we are not the boys СКАЧАТЬ