ith a regard into
which his whole soul is thrown. She, fair lady, is inclining, yet
withdrawing, eyes of fear and modesty cast down. Yet whatever of
temerity the faces tell, the hands are carrying out a comedy. Hid in
the shadow of a copious hat, which the gentleman extends, lurks a
rose; proffered by the lady's hand is a token--fair exchange, indeed,
of lover's symbols--provided the strong, hard man to the left of the
lady has himself no right of command over her and her favours. Thus
might one dream on forever over history's sweets and romance's
gallantries.

It is across the sea, in the sympathetic Museum of Cluny that the
beauty of early French work is exquisitely demonstrated. The set of
_The Lady and the Unicorn_ is one of infinite charm. (Plates facing
pages 44 and 45.) In its enchanted wood lives a noble lady tall and
fair, lithe, young and elegant, with attendant maid and two faithful,
fabulous beasts that uphold the standards of maidenhood. A simple
circle denotes the boundary of the enchanted land wherein she dwells,
a park with noble trees and lovely flowers, among which disport the
little animals that associate themselves with mankind. For four
centuries these hangings have delighted the eye of man, and are
perhaps more than ever appreciated now. Certain it is that the art
student's easel is often set before them for copying the quaint design
and soft colour.

[Illustration: THE LADY AND THE UNICORN

French Tapestry, Fifteenth Century. Musee de Cluny, Paris]

[Illustration: THE LADY AND THE UNICORN

French Tapestry, Fifteenth Century. Musee de Cluny, Paris]

As the early worker in wools could not forget the beauties of earth,
the foreground of many Gothic tapestries is sprinkled with the loved
common flowers of every day, of the field and wood. This is one of the
charming touches in early tapestry, these little flowers that thrust
themselves with captivating inappropriateness into every sort of
scene. The grave and awesome figures in the _Apocalypse_ find them at
their feet, and in scenes of battle they adorn the sanguinary sod and
twinkle between fierce combatants.

Occasionally a weaver goes mad about them and refuses to produce
anything else but lily-bells newly sprung in June, cowslips and
daisies pied, rosemary and rue, and all these in decorous courtesy on
a deep, dark background like twilight on a bank or moonlight in a
dell--and lo, we have the marvellous bit of nature-painting