The Lady and the Unicorn. Tracy ChevalierЧитать онлайн книгу.
for Geneviève de Nanterre. For I had a sudden vision of myself in ten years’ time – after long journeys, harsh winters, illnesses – alone in a cold bed, limbs aching, hands crabbed and unable to hold a paintbrush. At the end of my own usefulness, what would become of me? Death would be welcome then. I wondered if she thought that.
She was looking at me with her sad, clever eyes.
Something in these tapestries will be hers, I thought in a rush. They will not only be about a seduction in a forest, but about something else as well, not just a virgin but a woman who would be a virgin again, so that the tapestries are about the whole of a woman’s life, its beginning and its end. All of her choices, all in one, wound together. That was what I would do. I smiled at her.
A bell rang in the tower of Saint-Germain-des-Prés.
‘Sext, ma Dame,’ said one of the ladies.
‘I will go to that,’ Geneviève de Nanterre said. ‘We’ve missed the other offices, and I can’t go to Vespers this evening – I’m expected at Court with my lord.’ She rose from her chair as another lady brought over the casket. She reached up, undid the clasp of her necklace, and took it off, allowing the jewels to lie glistening in her hands for a moment before they tumbled into the casket to be locked away. Her lady held out a cross dotted with pearls on a long chain, and when Geneviève de Nanterre nodded she slipped it over her mistress’ head. The other ladies began putting away their sewing and gathering their things. I knew I would be dismissed.
‘Pardon, Madame, but will Monseigneur agree to unicorns rather than battles?’
Geneviève de Nanterre was rearranging the corded belt at her waist while one of the ladies unpinned her dark red overskirt so that its folds fell to the floor and covered the green and white leaves and flowers. ‘You will have to convince him.’
‘But – surely you should tell him yourself, Madame. After all, you were able to get him to agree to have me do the designs.’
‘Ah, that was easy – he cares nothing about people. One artist or another means little to him, as long as they are accepted at Court. But the subject of the commission is between him and you – I am meant to have nothing to do with it. So it is best if he hears from you.’
‘Perhaps Léon Le Vieux should speak to him.’
Geneviève de Nanterre snorted. ‘Léon would not go against my husband’s wishes. He protects himself. He is clever but not cunning – and what is needed to convince Jean is cunning.’
I frowned at the floor. The dazzle of the designs I would make had blinded me, but now the difficulty of my place was sinking in. I would prefer to design a lady and a unicorn over a battle with its many horses, but I did not like to go against Jean Le Viste’s wishes either. Yet it seemed I had no choice. I’d been caught in a web woven between Jean Le Viste and his wife and daughter, and I didn’t know how to escape. These tapestries will bring me to grief, I thought.
‘I have a cunning idea, Madame.’ The lady-in-waiting who spoke was the plainest but had lively eyes that moved back and forth as she thought. ‘In fact, it’s a punning idea. You know how Monseigneur likes puns.’
‘So he does,’ Geneviève de Nanterre agreed.
‘Visté means speed. The unicorn is visté, n’est-ce pas? No animal runs faster. So when we see a unicorn we think of Viste.’
‘Béatrice, you’re so clever – if your idea works with my husband you may marry this Nicolas des Innocents. I will give you my blessing.’
I jerked my head. Béatrice laughed, and all the women joined her. I smiled politely. I had no idea if Geneviève de Nanterre was joking.
Still laughing, Geneviève de Nanterre led her ladies out, leaving me alone.
I stood still in the quiet room. I should find a long pole and go back to the Grande Salle to begin measuring again. But it was a pleasure to stay here, with no ladies smirking at me. I could think in this room.
I looked around. There were two tapestries hanging on the walls, with the Annunciation I had painted for the room next to them. I studied the tapestries. These were of grape harvesters, men cutting the vines while women stamped on the grapes, skirts tucked high to reveal their spattered calves. They were much bigger than the painting, and with less depth. The weave made them look rough, and less fleshy and immediate than the Virgin in my painting. But they kept the room warm, and filled more of it with their vivid reds and blues.
A whole room full of these – it would be like making a little world, and one full of women rather than the horses and men of a battle. I would much prefer that, no matter how hard it would be to convince Jean Le Viste.
I glanced out of the window. Geneviève de Nanterre and Claude Le Viste were walking with their ladies towards the church, their skirts blowing about them. The sun was so bright that my eyes watered and I had to blink. When I could see again they were gone, replaced by the servant girl who carried my child. She held a basket and was plodding in the other direction.
Why did that lady-in-waiting laugh so hard at the thought of marrying me? Though I had not yet given much thought to marrying, I’d assumed I would one day have a wife to look after me when I was old. I had a good standing in the Court, steady commissions, and now these tapestries to keep me and any wife. There was no grey in my hair, I had all but two of my teeth, and I could plough thrice a night when the need arose. It was true that I was an artist and not a squire or rich merchant. But I wasn’t a blacksmith or cobbler or farmer. My hands were clean, my nails trim. Why should she laugh so?
I decided first to finish measuring the room, whatever I was to design for its walls. I needed a pole, and found the steward in the storerooms, counting out candles. He was as sour with me as before, but directed me to the stables. ‘You watch out with that pole,’ he ordered. ‘Don’t go doing any damage with it.’
I smirked. ‘I didn’t take you for a bawd,’ I said.
The steward frowned. ‘That’s not what I meant. But I’m not surprised that’s how you took it, you who can’t control your own rod.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean. What you done to Marie-Céleste.’
Marie-Céleste – the name meant nothing.
When the steward saw my blank look he snarled, ‘The maid you got with child, pisspot.’
‘Ah, her. She should have been more careful.’
‘So should you. She’s a good girl – she deserves better than you.’
‘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