The Island of the Day Before (47 page)

He made an effort and swam back to the side, touching it as if to derive strength. Above his head he glimpsed a cannon that protruded from a gun-port. If he had his rope, he thought, he could make a noose, throw it up, and catch by the throat that mouth of fire, then hoist himself, holding the rope with his arms and pressing his feet against the hull.... But the rope was absent, and worse still, he lacked the spirit and the strength to scale such a height.... It made no sense to die like this, beside his refuge.

He came to a decision. Now, doubling the stern, whether he turned back along the right side or continued along the left, the distance between him and the ladder was the same. As if casting lots, he resolved to swim to the left, taking care that the current did not separate him from the
Daphne.

He swam, clenching his teeth, his muscles strained, not daring to let himself relax, fiercely determined to survive, even—he said—if he died in the attempt.

With a jubilant cry he reached the bowsprit, clung to the prow, then came to the Jacob's ladder—praise Jacob, and may all the holy patriarchs of the Sacred Scriptures be blessed by the Lord God of Hosts.

His strength was gone. He remained clinging to the ladder for perhaps half an hour. But in the end he managed to pull himself up to the deck, where he tried to add up the sum of his experience.

First, he could swim, enough to go from one end of the ship to the other and back; second, an exploit of this kind took him to the extreme limit of his physical possibilities; third, since the distance between ship and shore, even at low tide, was many, many times greater than the entire perimeter of the
Daphne,
he could not hope to swim long enough to be able finally to grasp something solid; fourth, the low tide did indeed bring terra firma closer, but with its reflux it made his progress more difficult; fifth, if by chance he reached the halfway point and lacked the strength to go forward, he would not be able to return either.

Therefore he had to continue with the rope, and for a much longer time. He would go east as far as his strength allowed, and then he would tow himself back. Only exercising like this, day after day, would he be able to venture farther on his own.

He chose a calm afternoon, when the sun was behind him. He fitted himself out with a very long rope, one end fixed tightly to the mainmast; it lay on the deck in many coils, ready to play out gradually. He swam calmly, not tiring himself too much, resting often. He looked at the beach and the two promontories. Only now, from below, did he realize how far he was from that ideal line which extended from one cape to the other, from south to north, beyond which he would enter the day before.

Having failed to understand Father Caspar properly, he was convinced that the coral barrier began only at the point where little white waves marked the first reefs. Whereas obviously the coral began earlier. Otherwise the
Daphne
would have anchored closer to land.

So his bare legs scraped against something below the surface. Almost at the same time his eye caught an underwater movement of colored forms, and he felt an unbearable stinging at his thigh and shin. It was as if he had been bitten or clawed. To get away from that reef he pushed with a heel, wounding a foot also in this act.

He seized the rope, tugging on it so hard that when he was back on board, he saw his hands were excoriated; but he was more concerned about the condition of his leg and foot. There were clusters of painful pustules. He bathed them with fresh water, which soothed the stinging a bit. But towards evening, and through the night, the burning was accompanied by an acute itching, and in his sleep he probably scratched himself, so the next morning the pustules oozed blood and white matter.

He then had recourse to Father Caspar's preparations (Spiritus, Olea, Flores) which calmed the infection to some degree, but for a whole day he still felt the instinctive impulse to claw at those buboes.

Once again he calculated the sum of his experience, and came to four conclusions: the reef was closer than the reflux suggested, which encouraged him to try the venture again; some creatures living on it, crabs, fish, perhaps the corals, or some sharp stones, had the power to infect him with some kind of pestilence; if he wanted to return to those stones, he had to be shod and clothed, which would make his movements more awkward. In any case, since he could not shield his whole body, he had to be able to see underwater.

This last conclusion made him recall that Persona Vitrea or mask for seeing underwater that Father Caspar had shown him. He tried fastening it at his nape, and discovered that it enclosed his face, allowing him to look out as if through a window. He tried breathing, and realized that a bit of air came in. If air entered, then water would enter as well. So while using it, he would have to hold his breath—the more air remained in it, the less water would enter—and he would return to the surface as soon as the mask had filled.

It would not be an easy operation, and Roberto spent three days testing all its phases in the water, but close to the
Daphne.
Near the sailors' paillasses he found a pair of canvas hose that protected his feet without weighting him too much, and a pair of trousers to be tied at the calf. It took him half a day to relearn those movements that had now become so easy for him when he was naked.

Then he swam with the mask. In deep water he could not see much, though he did glimpse a school of gilded fish passing many ells below him, as if they were navigating in a tub.

Three days, we said. In the course of those days Roberto first learned to look below him while holding his breath, then to move as he looked, then to remove the mask while he was in the water. In this enterprise, instinctively, he also learned a new position, which consisted of filling and swelling his chest, kicking as if he were walking in haste, while he thrust his chin upwards. But it was more difficult, maintaining the same equilibrium, to put the mask back on and fasten it at his nape. He promptly reminded himself, further, that once at the reef, if he assumed that vertical position, he would strike the rocks; if on the other hand he kept his face out of the water, he would not see what he was kicking. Hence he considered it would be better not to fasten the mask but instead press it with both hands and hold it over his face. Which, however, obliged him to proceed moving only his legs, while keeping them outstretched horizontally to avoid striking anything below: an action he had never tried, and which required long practice before he could execute it confidently.

In the course of these experiments he transformed every fit of rage into a new chapter of his Romance of Ferrante.

And he caused his story to take a more spiteful turn, as Ferrante was duly punished.

I
N ANY CASE
he could not delay resuming his story. It is true that Poets, after having spoken of a memorable event, neglect it for a while in order to keep the reader in suspense—and in this skill we recognize also the well-planned novel. But the theme must not be abandoned for too long, so the reader should not become lost among too many other, parallel actions. So it was time to return to Ferrante.

Stealing Lilia from Roberto was only one of the goals Ferrante had set for himself. The other was to cause Roberto to fall into disfavor with the Cardinal. Not easy to achieve: the Cardinal did not even know of Roberto's existence.

But Ferrante knew how to make the most of opportunities. One day Richelieu was reading a letter in his presence, and said to him: "Cardinal Mazarin tells me a story about the English and a certain Powder of Sympathy they have. Did you hear any talk of it in London?"

"What is it, Your Eminence?"

"Signor Pozzo, or whatever your name is, learn that you must never answer a question with another question, especially if it is asked by someone of a station higher than your own. If I knew what it was, I would not ask you about it. In any event, if you know nothing of this powder, have you heard any mention of a new secret method for determining longitudes?"

"I confess I know nothing on this subject. If Your Eminence would enlighten me, perhaps I—"

"Signor Pozzo, you would be amusing if you were not insolent. I would not be the master of this country if I were to enlighten others about things they do not know—unless those others were the king of France, which does not seem to be your case. So do only what you know how to do: keep your ears open and learn things of which before you knew nothing. Then you will come and report them to me, and afterwards you will take care to forget them."

"That is what I have always done, Your Eminence. Or at least I think so, for I have forgotten doing it."

"Now that is to my liking. You may go."

Some time later came that memorable evening when Ferrante heard Roberto expound the theory of the powder. He could hardly believe his luck, able to draw to Richelieu's attention an Italian gentleman who consorted with the Englishman d'Igby (notoriously connected, some time ago, with the Due de Bouquinquant) and who seemed to know a great deal about the powder.

At the moment when he began casting discredit on Roberto, Ferrante still had to arrange how to take his place. So he revealed to the Cardinal that he, Ferrante, passed himself off as Signor del Pozzo because his job as informer obliged him to remain incognito, but in reality he was the true Roberto de la Grive, a valorous fighter with the French during the siege of Casale. The other man, who so slyly talked about the English powder, was a rascal adventurer. Exploiting a vague physical resemblance, under the name of Mahmut the Arab, he had recently served as a spy in London taking orders from the Turks.

Thus Ferrante prepared for the moment when, having ruined his brother, he could assume his identity, becoming the one and true Roberto not only to the relatives still left at La Griva but in the eyes of all Paris—as if the other had never existed.

In the meantime, as he masked himself with Roberto's face to conquer Lilia, Ferrante learned, like everyone else, of the misfortune of Cinq-Mars; and risking a great deal surely, but ready to give his life to consummate his revenge, again in the guise of Roberto he made a show of belonging to the company of that conspirator's friends.

Then he whispered to the Cardinal that the false Roberto de la Grive, who knew so much about a secret dear to the English, was clearly conspiring, and Ferrante promptly produced witnesses who could declare they had seen Roberto with this or that man.

As is clear, a castle of lies and travesties lay behind the trap into which Roberto had fallen. But Roberto had fallen for reasons and in ways unknown to Ferrante himself, whose plans were then upset by the death of Richelieu.

What, in fact, had happened? Richelieu, highly suspicious, was using Ferrante without mentioning him to anyone, not even to Mazarin, whom he obviously distrusted, seeing him by now poised like a vulture over an ailing body. Still, as his disease progressed, Richelieu did pass some information to Mazarin, without revealing its source: "By the way, my good Jules...."

"Yes, Eminence and my beloved father..."

"Keep an eye on one Roberto de la Grive. He goes in the evening to Madame de Rambouillet. It seems he knows a great deal about your Powder of Sympathy.... And, further, according to an informer of mine, the young man also frequents a circle of conspirators...."

"You must not tire yourself, Eminence. I will deal with everything."

And so Mazarin initiated, on his own, an enquiry into Roberto, until he had learned the little he made a great show of knowing on the night of the arrest. But in all of this he knew nothing of Ferrante.

Meanwhile Richelieu was dying. What would happen to Ferrante?

Richelieu dead, Ferrante was without protection. He had to establish some contact with Mazarin, for a scoundrel is an evil heliotrope turning always in the direction of the most powerful. But he cannot go to the new minister without bringing some evidence of his worth. He finds no further trace of Roberto. Can Roberto be ill? Has he set off on a journey? Ferrante thinks of everything save the possibility that his slanders have had their effect and Roberto has been arrested.

Ferrante does not dare show himself publicly in the guise of Roberto, for fear of arousing the suspicions of those who know that La Grive is far away. Whatever may have happened between him and Lilia, Ferrante ceases all communication with her, impassive as a man aware that every victory costs much time. He knows, also, he should make use of distance; the finest qualities lose their glow if displayed too often, and fancy travels farther than sight; even the phoenix resorts to distant habitats to keep its legend alive.

But time is pressing. On Roberto's return, Mazarin must already suspect him and want him dead. Ferrante consults his peers at court, and discovers that Mazarin can be approached through the young Colbert, to whom he sends a letter hinting at an English threat and the matter of longitudes (knowing nothing about them, and having heard them mentioned only once, by Richelieu). In exchange for his revelations he asks for a considerable sum, and is granted a meeting, at which he appears dressed as an elderly abbé, with a black eye-patch.

Colbert is not ingenuous. This abbé's voice sounds familiar, the few things he says have a dubious ring. Colbert summons two guards, goes to the visitor, tears off the patch and the beard, and whom does he find before him? The same Roberto de la Grive he himself consigned to his agents, charging them to put this Italian on board Dr. Byrd's ship.

In telling himself this story, Roberto exults. Ferrante has walked straight into the trap, all on his own. "You? San Patrizio?" Colbert promptly cried. Then, seeing Ferrante start and remain silent, he ordered the man flung into a dungeon.

It was a great joke for Roberto to imagine the colloquy between Mazarin and Colbert, who immediately informed the Cardinal.

"The man must be mad, Your Eminence. To dare evade his mission, I can understand, but to try to come here to sell us what we had already given him can only be evidence of madness."