They kill the unicorn!

Everyone has seen the picture of the captive unicorn, the medieval depiction of the magnificent beast penned in a garden. The seven-part tapestry that scene is from is housed at the Cloisters, and while visiting the museum today I discovered that panel was a late addition to the piece. The original final scene shows the unicorn, after a long hunt, being slaughtered.

I became fascinated with unicorns while a youngster — not the unicorns decorating adolescent girls’ school binders, but the unicorns of Marco Polo and Thomas Malory: war beasts, whose fearsome horns were weapons of the deadliest sort.

In truth, the portrayal of the unicorn killed in battle seems more true to the spirit of the beast than does the picture of the captured animal. And make no mistake, it is a battle: soldiers trying to pierce its flesh with halberds, dogs harrying the animal as it runs, the unicorn fighting back — tearing through flesh with a serious and melancholy look on its bearded face.

But all the unicorn’s magic, all its weapons, are not enough in the end.

There’s a lesson there. I’m just not sure what.