On reaching the King’s study, I found three royal dogs sprawled on the floor. They knew my scent by now, and barely bothered to lift their heads. Pomme was in her usual place under the tortoiseshell desk and I shifted her out of the way with my foot. It was not a wasted journey, for inside the secret drawer was a note bearing the King’s seal. I wondered if Monsieur Bontemps had known one would be there. I stared at the fleurs-de-lys and, in truth, I did not want to pick it up, for all I wanted was to be reunited with Isabelle. What might the King require of me now? Or did he merely wish to talk with his unicorn? I tore it open and found that there were only four words on the page:
Wait for me here.
But I had to go back so that Isabelle could see my face! I crumpled up the note and sank to the floor. The King never spoke to me inside the palace! The dogs dreamed on, their bellies rising and falling, their muscles twitching. Wait for me here. What could it mean? Covering my face with my hands, I stared into the dark hollow of my palms.
* * *
I am prone to an inconvenient reaction to acute anxiety: I fall into a sudden and deep sleep from which it is impossible to wake me. Now that I have learned to recognize the symptoms, I can sometimes prevent this from happening. But this was my first—and very untimely—experience of it.
I awoke to the sound of the Sun King clearing his throat. My eyelids slid open and I saw him standing, hands behind his back, looking down through the window at the marble courtyard. Still befuddled, I tried to stand up, and failed in my attempt. The King turned around and calmly gestured for me to stay where I was. The dogs had gone and someone had covered me with a blanket and put a cushion beneath my head.
“I believe you fainted, my unicorn. Rest awhile. You will feel better presently.”
He handed me a glass of red wine and ordered me to drink, which I did, feeling very strange and not yet a part of the world. I pushed myself up so that at least I was sitting, rather than lying in the presence of the King.
Louis resumed looking through the window. “There are times when an encounter with beauty is so vivid and powerful that one feels consumed by it. And it is natural to wish to preserve that feeling—even to possess that object of beauty. Would you agree?”
He turned to look at me. I nodded uncertainly. Louis continued: “My life, my gardens, my palaces—all are overflowing with people and things whose charms I have been unable to resist. And yet, I have a suspicion that it is only when we ask nothing of beauty, when we let it be and accept it for what it is, that we begin to truly appreciate it. Do you understand what I am saying, Jean-Pierre?”
“Yes, Sire.” I lied. I had slept in an awkward position and was trying to ignore the pins and needles in my feet and calves.
“You see, familiarity and ownership can degrade that which we love. It is the rose we do not pluck, it is the songbird we do not cage that continues in beauty. If restraint is important for all men, it is doubly important for one with the promise of a long life.”
Now that the feeling had come back into my legs I made another attempt to stand. Louis offered me his cool, smooth hand, which I took, and he pulled me up. I was still in great awe of the Sun King, and I remember that this ordinary gesture moved me profoundly. Had I guessed what the King was on the point of announcing? I wonder if, in that hidden part of the mind that is wiser than we know, I had. In any case I found myself changing the subject, as if by diverting his words I could divert his purpose.
“Sire, thank you for demonstrating to the court that the Comte d’Alembert did not poison his wife. Now no one can doubt his innocence.”
“It was a convincing letter, was it not?” He gave me a sidelong look. “My scribe is skilled—”
“The letter was forged!”
The King smiled pleasantly. “Have I shocked you, Jean-Pierre? I am satisfied that the Comte is perfectly innocent. And did you not ask me to do what I could to help him? Besides, I had another motive to defend d’Alembert, which I shall explain presently.”
There was an expression on the King’s face that I could not read. “Tell me, my unicorn, do you long to tell someone your secret? Is it hard to be different and alone in that difference?”
“I used to speak of it to Signor de Lastimosa,” I replied.
“Yes, I know it. But he is departed for Sweden and you must learn to do without him—which has led me to come to a decision that, I hope, will make the burden of your secret easier to bear. I shall permit you to have a single person to be your confidant. That person has sworn on oath, in my presence, never to divulge your true identity. She will be a Friend to you, someone with whom you can share your hopes and fears. Is this something that would please you?”
She! My heart leapt. “Who is it, Sire?”
“Your first Friend, for as long as she may live, is Mademoiselle Isabelle d’Alembert.”
I gasped with the joy of it. “Sire!” I said. “Thank you!”
But suddenly I recognized the expression that played on his face, and my stomach lurched. It was pity.
“I chose her because she will perform the role of Friend not out of duty, nor from the hope of reward, but from love. As I have already told you, I am of the opinion that a marital alliance would be ill-advised: She will age and you will not. Ultimately it would be the cause of much unhappiness—for you both. You are not an ordinary man, and, like a priest, your energies must be dedicated to your calling.”
The King paused to observe me; I remained mute. My calling?
“Jean-Pierre, I know what it is to be young. You would not have had the strength to push aside your feelings. The difference that sets you apart makes you unfit to be a husband and father. You are destined for greater things than marriage. Today, in front of witnesses, the Prince de Montclair and Mademoiselle d’Alembert were betrothed. Their union will join two great families and will heal a rift.”
My mind struggled to register his words. He reassured me that my destiny would compensate for the “small sacrifice” I must now make. It was as if I stood on some precipice, and when he placed a treacherous hand on my shoulder I felt that he had nudged me over the edge, sending me spinning down, powerless to react or to stop my fall.
“Monsieur Bontemps will take appropriate steps in order to ensure that your meetings with Mademoiselle d’Alembert can take place far from prying eyes. However, I believe it is right that a period of time elapse before this new association commences in order for you both to come to terms with the change in your circumstances. I think it best if the Prince de Montclair remains ignorant of the arrangement.”
The King walked away from me then; I caught a fleeting glimpse of his silhouette as he paused in the doorway, a cloud of irritation scudding over his dark features. One of the dogs scampered in, licked the tips of my fingers, and scampered out again, claws skidding on the wooden floor.
“Mademoiselle d’Alembert and her aunt are presently in my gardens by the Fountain of Apollo,” said the Sun King. “If you are sufficiently recovered, you may join them and greet your Friend.”
XXVIII
The fountains were, by order of the King, in full flow—a suitable backdrop for a tragic scene. He had two Swiss Guards escort me. We made our way from the King’s apartment to the Latona Fountain, then walked soundlessly down the tapis vert, the great slope of lawn that swept down toward the Fountain of Apollo and, beyond it, the Grand Canal. The guards stopped at a respectful distance, leaving me to go on alone. My heart thumped wildly in my chest as I spotted two small figures. They stood next to the great disc of sparkling water from whose center Apollo’s chariot emerged. Isabelle wore silk the color of moonlight and a formal headdress, like her aunt. She was staring into the distance but as I grew closer, something made her turn. Before she had time to adjust her expression, I saw my own pain and shock mirrored in her face. She looked as if she had not slept. Her aunt nodded coolly in my direction and retreated toward the shade cast by a long avenue of trees. I wished we could have been alone. Isabelle walked tow
ard me and I bowed and kissed her hand. She pressed my fingers hard between her own. I looked up at her. Behind her the fountain thundered. Jets of foaming water made rainbows above her headdress.
“Are you well?” she asked.
“Is it true? Are you betrothed? Tell me!”
Isabelle nodded. “The King has told me who you are and why he protects you. . . . Why could you not have told me yourself, Jean-Pierre? Did you not trust me?”
“Yes, I trusted you—I would trust you with my life!”
“I would have told no one. I will tell no one—”
“I do not know for certain that I am a sempervivens. . . . Is that why you agreed to marry Montclair—because the King said that you will age faster than me?”
“No! It is because the King has commanded me—”
“But do you want to marry Montclair?”
“You know I do not! It suits the King to join our two families. I could see by his face that Montclair was as reluctant as I—”
“Yet you both agreed—”
“We were given no choice. Did you expect me to defy the King and my family?”
“No . . . I am sorry.”
All at once the notion came to me that if we departed that afternoon we could reach Calais in time to join the Spaniard.
“What is it?” demanded Isabelle. I realized I was beaming.
“Then come away with me! Now! This very afternoon! The Spaniard has procured a passage to England. He has a house in the marshes where we would never be found. If we left for Calais tonight there would still be time.”
Isabelle’s face lit up and in an instant, the promise of a whole new life opened like a flower in my mind. Then I saw her lower her eyes.
“I cannot.”
“But why? Montclair will not make you happy! He will not love you as I do!”
She started to speak but stopped herself.
“Come with me, Isabelle! Why can you not choose happiness?”
She held out the flat of her hand as if to push me away.
“I don’t understand!” I cried.
“I will tell you,” she exclaimed. “Even though I should not. You have heard about the letter, supposedly from my mother’s doctor—”
“Yes—the King told me it was a forgery.”
“You know! Yes, the letter has saved our family’s reputation. But when my father said that he would prefer me to marry someone I did not actually hate, Monsieur Bontemps implied, without saying so directly, that the King desired the marriage, and that it would be unfortunate if someone were to reveal that the physician’s letter had been forged—”
Suddenly all became clear to me. “It would make everyone suspect that your father had been concealing a murder all along—”
“It would become my father’s death warrant. The scribe, it seems, believes his payment came from someone in our household.”
I did not know how to respond. It was the first time I had seen Isabelle cry. All the sorrow and helplessness rose up inside her so that her chest started to heave.
“My father has asked me to do my duty and obey the King.”
Tears ran silently down her cheeks. It was unbearable. Ignoring the presence of her aunt, I drew Isabelle to me and held her. I, who would have done anything for her, was powerless to act. We were both caught in a vise, unable to move. Her head rested on my shoulder and when I looked up I saw her aunt staring back at me, appalled. Already she was starting to walk toward us. I thought my heart would break.
“The King told me you would need someone to confide in whom you could trust absolutely. He said that it would be selfish of me to want to keep you for myself, for you will not be like other men. He said it is for the best.”
“It is not for the best!” I cried. “The King would make us all his creatures—”
Isabelle was calmer now. “We are all his creatures. But at least we have something. I feared that the King might separate us forever. I shall be your first and the best of your Friends.”
There was something about her words that made me think she had rehearsed them. I felt a light tap on my back.
“Release my niece immediately, Monsieur!” said Isabelle’s aunt quietly. “This is unseemly.”
Isabelle lifted her head and drew away a little. “Aunt, I beg you to give us one moment more.”
But her aunt shook her head and beckoned to the Swiss Guards. Then Isabelle put her mouth to my ear and whispered: “They can make me marry Montclair, but they can’t make me love him.”
A moment later I felt my arms wrenched behind my back at the same time as Isabelle’s aunt pulled her away from me. Once we were parted, the guards stepped away and stood awkwardly to attention. I watched as Isabelle was marched back to the palace by her aunt. She craned around to look at me for as long as she could, trying to smile, keeping her dignity, doing her duty. When she had vanished from sight I stood motionless and stared absently at the fountain. I did not know what to do or where to go. Presently the guards left and a gardener came to turn the water off. My collar was still damp with Isabelle’s tears. Apollo, god of the sun, still drove his chariot across the skies, giving light and warmth to the world. If I could have stopped him that day I would have, for all I sensed, and all I wanted, was darkness and cold, a sky without light.
XXIX
As I look back it seems to me that I have led not one but many lives. The first ended that day by the Fountain of Apollo. It marked the end of my youth and the beginning of a slow acceptance of what I had been put on this earth to become.
I grew up believing that I was a child like any other. These notebooks record how I learned the truth, and also contain within them the seeds of my later life. One day, it might be appropriate for you to learn more—I cannot yet say. Though only, of course, if you wish it. If the sharing of these words is to be the final transaction between us, you deserve to know, even if only in the very briefest of terms, the broad direction my life took thereafter, what became of the Spaniard, and how I came to live here, at Stowney House, with Martha and Jacob.
That I am a homo sapiens sempervivens, like my father and his father before him, will now be clear to you. It was a hard truth for me to grasp, and it was many years before I was wholly convinced. I had been given a stupendous, extraordinary gift. Yet what had I done to deserve it? Nothing! And did I know what to do with the life I had been given? No, I did not. But in this I was no different to any other human soul. After I left Versailles—a century and more after I arrived—there was a period when I was utterly lost. Only when I had found my way again was I able to put to good use the talents I had been born with, and the skills I had learned.
* * *
I ended my account with a description of the day that Isabelle was betrothed to the Prince de Montclair. That same day, embittered, full of hate, and convinced that I could never again speak with the King, I left for Calais, determined to take up the Spaniard on his offer. On my tail were the King’s spies, though I never once noticed them. Afterward, I learned that they would have followed me to England, if necessary, their instructions being only to observe and protect me. But three-quarters of the way to the English Channel, I stopped and turned back. Isabelle exerted a pull on me like gravity: I could not abandon her. I was not alone in needing a friend: She would have to survive a marriage to a man she loathed. So I swallowed my pride and continued to perform the role the King had assigned to me, just as he knew I would.
What an ingenious stratagem the Sun King had conceived! He played us, one against the other, while tightening his grip on us all. Two great families had been brought to heel. Isabelle would marry Montclair because her father would be exposed as a murderer if she did not. The Montclair family (its empty coffers newly filled with Isabelle’s dowry) also lived under the threat of disclosure, for the King had proof that it was Montclair’s father who had bribed d’Alembert’s maid to bear false witness against him. As for me, with the Spaniard gone and my father unwelcome at court, I could devote myself
to recording the golden reign of the Sun King for posterity. If I were to tire of my task, my affection for Isabelle would tie me to Versailles. Even there, because Monsieur Bontemps was in charge of arranging our clandestine meetings, the King had some measure of control over our relationship.
Louis’s energy, focus, and sheer will—to create over so many decades a court, a kingdom, and a country in his own image—still astonish me. I have met many leaders of men in my life, but none has surpassed Louis in his drive to leave his stamp on the world.
Monsieur Bontemps’s favorite piece of advice to me was that to win is to lose, by which he meant that those who reach the highest positions rarely remain there for long. The trick is to endure. The short-lived careers of many ambitious courtiers were testament to Bontemps’s good sense. As a consequence I made a point of refusing so many titles and honors over the years that the King would make extravagant offers purely for the pleasure of hearing my excuses as I refused them. If I aspired to anything, it was simply this: to learn what I could at the court of the Sun King until something better suggested itself. When nothing did, I latched on to Versailles a little more tightly with every year that passed, like a barnacle to a rock. Besides, how could I have left Isabelle? Louis always had my measure.
My days were spent in the service of the King—or, as I would tell myself, in the service of my country. I learned to observe and interpret; I understood (as the Spaniard had taught me) how to listen beneath what was said in order to make connections that others had not; I became an accomplished reader of character, a diplomat, a commentator. I was careful to furnish information, but never to give the King advice. Louis’s mistakes, as I was wise enough to understand, must always be his own. My opinions I kept to myself. In short, I made myself indispensable—always ready and waiting in the wings, away from public view—sound, discreet, dependable.