Paris: The Novel

evil tales must be based upon something.
    He looked at Monsieur Jacob with suspicion, therefore, and wondered why his father was treating him in such a friendly manner.
    “So what would you like me to see?” his father was asking.
    “A moment, monsieur.” Jacob disappeared through the door at the back, returning shortly with what looked like a rug, which he proceeded to unroll. “A moment more,” he said, as he lit several lamps around it. “Voilà, Monsieur de Cygne, and young Monsieur Roland. Here it is.”
    They stepped forward. And his father gasped.
    “Where the devil did you find it?” he cried.
    “On a friend’s recommendation, I bid blind on the entire contents of a house in Rouen,” the dealer explained. “A month later, to my surprise they told me I’d won the auction. When I went to clear the place out, I found this wrapped up in the basement.” He smiled. “Then I thought, this might belong in Monsieur de Cygne’s château down in the Loire valley. It’s the right period. But if it should not be of any interest to you, then I will show it to other customers.”
    “My dear Jacob …” The vicomte turned to his son. “Do you know what this is, Roland?”
    The tapestry at which Roland was gazing was remarkable in many ways. In the first place, it had no border, and every inch of its luminous blue-green background seemed to be covered in magical flowers and plants, from which birds, animals and humans were emerging. The whole tone of the picture, as well as the dress of the knights and ladies, suggested that it was medieval.
    “Because they are so sprinkled with plants, these tapestries are known as mille fleurs, a thousand flowers,” his father said.
    “It looks magical,” Roland said.
    “The glow,” Monsieur Jacob explained—he had a soft voice so that Roland had to strain to listen, which irritated him—“comes from the fact that the background color is dark blue, to which the green is added.” He turned to the vicomte. “As you see, there is a little wear and tear on one corner. This can be repaired if you wish. There is also a little discoloration from damp near the bottom. It may be treatable, or it may not. Overall, however, it is in remarkable condition.”
    “It really looks like a painting,” said Roland. It wasn’t much of a comment, but he wanted to say something.
    “Excellent,” said Monsieur Jacob softly. “You are more correct than you know. Before a tapestry was made, it was normal for the artist to paint the design separately. This is known as a cartoon. But in the case of these particular tapestries, the artist painted directly onto the canvas backing, through which the needleworkers would pass their wool and silken thread. The colors were matched precisely.” He turned again to Roland’s father. “But it is the figures themselves that we should examine.”
    Roland stared. Amid the bright flowers and plants were several trees. Apparently this was meant to be a wood, or perhaps an orchard. There were birds in the trees. Four people, two men and two women, dressed in rich clothes, were walking in a stately way through the scene. They were accompanied by several hunting dogs. Farther off, other animals lurked in the undergrowth. Then he heard his father exclaim.
    “My God. A unicorn.”
    In the upper right-hand quarter of the scene, leaping away through the trees, where one might have expected to see a deer making its escape, was a pale unicorn. So perfect was the composition that, having spotted it, the eye was led right around the scene before returning to the lovely, haunting presence of the magical creature.
    “There are two famous tapestry sets that feature the unicorn,” Jacob said. “There is the spectacular Lady and the Unicorn series, on its dazzling red background, which was placed on show just five years ago in the Cluny Museum. Do you know this museum, young Monsieur Roland? It’s on the site of the old Roman baths on the Left Bank, only a short walk from your father’s house. And there is also another set, called the Hunt of the Unicorn, on a green background, that is owned by the Duc de La Rochefoucauld. Both those sets, we are almost certain, were of Flemish origin—made in what, today, we call Belgium. But this tapestry is French. It dates to a little later than those sumptuous masterpieces—to the early fifteen hundreds—and belongs to what we call the Loire School. Perhaps this unicorn was inspired by those famous tapestries,