Location via proxy:   [ UP ]  
[Report a bug]   [Manage cookies]                
Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    From $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    The Man in the Iron Mask
    The Man in the Iron Mask
    The Man in the Iron Mask
    Ebook685 pages10 hours

    The Man in the Iron Mask

    By Alexandre Dumas

    3.5/5

    ()

    Switch to audiobook
    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Tor Classics are affordably-priced editions designed to attract the young reader. Original dynamic cover art enthusiastically represents the excitement of each story. Appropriate "reader friendly" type sizes have been chosen for each title—offering clear, accurate, and readable text. All editions are complete and unabridged, and feature Introductions and Afterwords.

    This edition of The Man in the Iron Mask includes a Foreword, Biographical Note, and Afterword.

    "You are about to hear," said Aramis, "an account which few could now give; for it refers to a secret which they buried with the dead...."

    So begins the magnificent concluding story of the swashbuckling Musketeers, Aramis, Athos, Porthos, and D'Artagnan. Aramis--plotting against the King of France--bribes his way into the jail cells of the Bastille where a certain prisoner has been entombed for eight long years. The prisoner knows neither his real name nor the crime he has committed. But Aramis knows the secret of the prisoner's identity...a secret so dangerous that its revelation could topple the King from his throne!

    Aramis...plotting against the King?

    The motto of the Musketeers has been "All for one, and one for all." Has Aramis betrayed his friends? Is this the end of the Musketeers?



    At the Publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMacmillan Publishers
    Release dateFeb 15, 1998
    ISBN9781466805255
    Author

    Alexandre Dumas

    Alexandre Dumas (1802-1870) was a prolific French writer who is best known for his ever-popular classic novels The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers.

    Read more from Alexandre Dumas

    Related to The Man in the Iron Mask

    Related ebooks

    Classics For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • UNLIMITED

      Mr. Rain Jacket

      May 20, 2019

      Mr. Rain Jacket
      10 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The 40 Greatest Books To Read Before You Die

      Apr 25, 2021

      Books, books, books. They will increase your lifespan, lower your stress and boost your intelligence. They will give you fuller, thicker hair. Whatever the breathless claims about reading, one thing is certain: losing yourself in a great novel is one

      14 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Ninth House

      Oct 9, 2019

      RELEASED OUT NOW! 450 pages | Hardback/ebook/audiobook Author Leigh Bardugo Publisher Gollancz Fantasy writers were fascinated by schools and colleges long before Harry Potter caught the train to Hogwarts, and it’s fairly easy to draw up a list of th

      1 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Uncomfortable Whiteness of Contemporary War Literature

      Oct 17, 2017

      One can hope that we might draw lessons from the Vietnam War’s legacy of near-erasure of non-white experiences; that the growth of veterans writing workshops and anthologies will represent to future generations a more complete picture of The Forever

      8 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Set up Siri

      Jul 16, 2020

      Set up Siri
      1 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Richard The Radical

      Nov 26, 2020

      Richard The Radical
      10 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      In Summary

      Jul 1, 2021

      There’s some good writing here. This short extract has covered a lot of ground and established that Edwina is a recently widowed woman thanks to the sinking of the Titanic. Her interior voice is skilfully rendered and there are some subtle touches su

      1 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Crimes of the Heart

      Nov 5, 2016

      Like many of his novels, Spanish author Javier Marías’ new book, Thus Bad Begins, isn’t exactly a mystery, though it is mysterious. Here, the 65-year-old perennial Nobel favorite tells the story of Juan de Vere, a young man working for a film directo

      1 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      HOW TO… Install Google Play Store on your Amazon Fire tablet

      Jan 4, 2023

      What you need: Amazon Fire tablet (2018 onwards) Time required: 30 minutes What do Duolingo, Gmail and Firefox have in common? Despite being among the most popular apps on Android and iOS, none of them can be downloaded through the Amazon Appstore. T

      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Millions Top Ten: September 2017

      Oct 16, 2017

      This month marks the entrée of two newcomers. The post The Millions Top Ten: September 2017 appeared first on The Millions.

      1 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      First Among Equals

      Apr 25, 2017

      RAKE INCARNATE Let’s imagine, for a moment, that Alexandre Dumas’s Three Musketeers can be reduced to Spice Girl-style thumbnail archetypes. Athos, in this line-up, is Moody Musk, the nobleman with dark secrets who’s morose, sarcastic and prone to mo

      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      First Among Equals

      Oct 12, 2018

      by stuart husband RAKE INCARNATE Let’s imagine, for a moment, that Alexandre Dumas’s Three Musketeers can be reduced to Spice Girl-style thumbnail archetypes. Athos, in this line-up, is Moody Musk, the nobleman with dark secrets who’s morose, sarcast

      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Posh Misery Memoir

      Jan 11, 2023

      By Rory Knight Bruce Mount Orleans Press £20 Rory Knight Bruce was one of Fleet Street's characters in the 1980s and ‘90s: a bit of a legend in his own lunchtime. A Puck-like, Will-o’-the-wisp Withnail in everyone's peripheral vision, he seemed to ap

      3 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for The Man in the Iron Mask

    3.5/5

    14 ratings11 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 4/5
      The third book about the four musketeers is usually split into three parts, of which this is the last. Do not be misled by the Hollywood adaptations of this book, it's still a story of political intrigue, rather than an adventure novel. It marks the end of the adventures of our four heroes.
    • 4/5
      A girl in my world literature class gave a book report on this book that sounded exactly like the movie, which I had loved. I wanted to know if she was cheating so I read the book myself. Well... she was cheating. But the book was still good, if REALLY thick in 18th century French politics.
    • 4/5
      I was surprised that the book was very different from the movie! It is the tale of the failed attempt on the part of two former musketeers to place the identical twin on the throne of Louis XIV. All of this takes place in the first few chapters and the rest is Louis getting even.
    • 1/5
      The first part of the volume is actually quite good with many tense and interesting scenes. Something of an antidote to the boring padding that marrs the earlier volumes, but there is nothing to justify making his readers suffer through those sub-standard sub-plots. There is some ropey writing, especially where he's overly earnest in bewailing the deaths of characters that, despite the 2000 pages of this long novel, he's not taken the time to really make us care about. While I can understand why this is the only commonly read section of the Musketeers' saga after The Three Musketeers, my main emotion on finishing it was relief.
    • 3/5
      back in the days Leo was cool I guess I thought it was cool to read this book. I was into it, but it isnt the best Dumas and its very comical/goofy. made for my age at the time 11-13.
    • 4/5
      This is the third and final episode of the Musketeers story. At the start of the book the musketeers are still in their glory. D’Artagnan is the captain of the Musketeers and has the confidence of the king, Louis XIV. Aramis is a high-ranking churchman (and in fact is the head of a secret society within the church). Porthos is wealthy and still a strongman. Athos is a Count and has the only child, Raoul, whom he adores. Raoul is also beloved by the three other musketeers. Unfortunately, Raoul has had his heart broken and is desperately unhappy. His fiancé fell in love with the King and became his mistress.
      The title character really plays a minor role in the story. He is the twin brother of Louis XIV but he has been hidden away by his parents so that the succession will not be in doubt. Aramis has learned of his existence as a prisoner in the Bastille and conceives a scheme to free him and substitute him for his brother. This would give Aramis control over the King of France and allow him to achieve his ultimate aim, the papacy. Aramis involves Porthos in the scheme but not the other two since he knows they would not go along with it.
      The scheme fails and Aramis and Porthos must flee. They take refuge at Belle-Isle, an island off France near Nantes. The King orders D’Artagnan to capture them which puts D’Artagnan in quite a quandary. The King has foreseen that D’Artagnan will try to help his friends and prevents him being able to. D’Artagnan returns to the King to tender his resignation and while he is away from Belle-Isle the troops capture it. Aramis and Porthos try to get away in a small boat but in the ensuing fight Porthos is killed. Aramis does manage to escape to Spain.
      Meanwhile, Athos and Raoul have parted because Raoul has joined the army to fight in Algeria. Athos knows Raoul intends to seek death and he declines physically and mentally waiting for word. When it comes and Raoul is confirmed dead Athos dies as well.
      Four years later D’Artagnan (who did not end up resigning) goes to war for France against the Dutch. He is promised to be made a Marshal if his troops do well. At the moment he receives word that he has been made Marshal he is killed.
      Thus of the four, only Aramis is left at the end of the book. According to the afterword to the book Dumas intended this to show the death of chivalry and honour. It makes for a very sad ending and I wonder how this was received by the public at the time it was published.
      I had not read the middle book, Twenty Years After, and my recollection of the original Three Musketeers is quite dim so I’m not sure how this book compares to the others. My feeling though is that there was much more action and not so much politics and court intrigue. Maybe some day I’ll reread the first book and read the second to see how they compare.
    • 3/5
      This one's the 5th book in the saga of the Three Musketeers--or, technically, the 3.3rd. Apparently the 3rd book published was a massive novel titled Le Vicomte de Bragelonne. Some English translations of that book, for whatever reason, were split into three novels. Anyway, in ignorance I picked up this volume, thinking it the next installment, and continued to read it after discovering my error. It didn't suffer too much for the loss, as M. Dumas gave enough backstory that I could follow along. It's the final tale of d'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis and their capers and intrigues with French royalty. The story was typical Dumas, with enjoyable characters and meandering plotlines. It was a bit of a downer since it was the final book of the saga. I also found the ending a bit unsatisfying--there was no "happily ever after", nor any great tragedy to wrap up the saga. It was still enjoyable reading, of course, but I kept thinking that next time I should just pick up The Three Musketeers.
      --J.
    • 2/5
      Well, that was a real downer. People die, noble plots are thwarted, good men are sent to prison. The title is a little misleading, because surprisingly little of the book is about said man - the brother of the king, whom Aramis tries to install in his place from the very first chapter. I still love all four Musketeers, but this story seemed less about them and more about French politics. I think. To be honest, I had a lot of trouble following it. I kept confusing people, especially since most of the noblemen had two or three names each. It was nice to rejoin Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan, but I would have rather spent the time with them off on adventures, and not as old men who barely see each other anymore. I suppose it's not a bad way to round off your Musketeer collection, but definitely don't start here.

      This translation was not so great. I'm not convinced, even in Dumas's time, that people would say "What does that signify?" instead of "What does that mean?" or "Do you comprehend?" instead of "Do you understand?" It made everything sound stilted and weird.
    • 4/5
      And thus ends the last book of The Three Musketeers series, aka the D'artagnan Romances. Not the greatest of endings. And definitely didn't live up to all the hype and the expectations.

      3.5/5
    • 4/5
      Now that’s a saga. Not this book specifically, but the whole of the d’Artagnan novels (or romances as they are often styled). I can hardly organize my thoughts because the end affected me so much. I cried. Seriously. This is only the third book to ever make me cry (counting Of Mice and Men which really shouldn't...it makes everyone cry, doesn’t it?)

      Spoilers.

      I came to this section of the story with preconceived notions of what the story would be. Not from any one source, but from this novel’s reputation in general. I thought there would be a lot more about the twins, the switch and the repercussions of that switch. Strangely, it is all over and done with very quickly. Fouquet spoils everything by being an idiot and Aramis and Porthos have to literally run for their lives. Phillippe is put into yet another prison and is never heard of again. It was so strange. I kept expecting d’Artagnan to spring the guy or something, but no, he deposits him on the island, mask in place and that’s it. The rest of the story is about Fouquet’s downfall, Louis’s perfection of his power and what happens to the four as a result.

      Their friendship is one to end all friendships. Porthos forgives Aramis for his duplicity. Athos wastes away with Raoul gone. Aramis schemes mightily to get them out of their predicament. d’Artagnan’s attempts to save them are thwarted by Louis’s counter-orders and secret spies. It’s painful to watch. Especially since I really wanted (and expected) them to retire into old age in one of Porthos’s estates, sipping Alsace wine and talking about the glory days. OMG I was not prepared for what an absolute downer the whole ending was. I had tears streaming down my face for all of the deaths. Especially Porthos’s since his was one of such sacrifice and his character was so much larger than life. At the very end I had the urge to go right back to The Three Musketeers and start all over again.
    • 4/5
      First I must admit that even though I've seen a few movie renditions, this is the first time I've read this book. Furthermore, this is the first book I've read by Dumas…and it is kind of a strange place to start considering this is the ending of one of his famous series.

      The first thing I noticed about the writing was that it was VERY detailed. Not only in terms of descriptions but also in terms of the character and political development. I quickly found myself overwhelmed with dozens of names, roles and relationships (personal and political) throughout France and neighboring countries. It was dizzying to try to keep them all straight, especially considering a number of similar names as well as the habit of referring to some people by different names at different times (sometimes by their common name, sometimes by their political/professional title). After a while, I sank in and was able to keep at least the principal characters straight. and I got caught up in the intriguing machinations that were unfolding.

      Having seen two movie versions, I felt like I had a good feel for what to expect from the plot. However, it quickly became apparent that the movie versions I've seen (and from what I can tell, this is true of most of the movie versions out there) are rather different from the novel.

      Interestingly, the story of the "man in the iron mask" is only a small portion of the overall plot of this particular book. And that plot segment unravels itself through the first third of the book and then disappears completely. In the movie versions, the way the "iron mask" plot ends is strikingly different from what happens in the book. The remaining half+ of the book has nothing to do with the "man in the iron mask" (except for the consequences of the plot) and instead follows the famous musketeers to the ends of their careers/lives.

      It was still adventurous and a lot of fun…but was different from what I expected. So, now that I know that I shouldn't compare the book to the movie at all, and feeling more comfortable with the characters and plot…I am able to look back over the book as a whole in an entirely different light.

      As I said, the writing was very detailed. In some cases it felt like the details were a littler superfluous and over the top, but mostly I found it very immersive to be provided with that level of detail. Some of the characters felt a bit stereotypical but the main characters were unique and intriguing. They had significant depth which provided them with believable motivations to their various actions and dialog. The one exception I saw was the prince in the scene where he was anticipating D'Artangan's every action. We had previously been given to expect the prince to be incapable of strategic planning or foresight and suddenly we find him anticipating the motivations and reactions of a thoughtful and strategic man. To me, that was a bit of a stretch. I can discount it a bit based on the other character who was feeding the prince with various ideas and can thus attribute the insight to this other character (being vague to try and avoid spoilers).

      I really found myself enjoying the overall story. The "man in the iron mask" portion was very interesting and fun. I was shocked to see it end so different from the movies, but it felt more natural and believable. Then to have so much adventure after that plot arc, I had a ton of fun. While the intrigue and machinations of carrying out the "iron mask" plot were fun and intriguing, I'd heard/scene them so often that they became commonplace. Thus, the adventure that happened after the "iron mask" was fresh to me and that made it so much more fun.

      Overall I will admit that, if this book is any indication, Dumas is a heavy read. This book was filled with very detailed accounts of places, people, politics and other comings and goings of France. This was both a joy and a hindrance at times. There were moments when I felt bogged down by the text, but mostly I really enjoyed the vivid experience and the immense detail I was given. I probably should have started with the first book in the series ("The Three Musketeers") but I was familiar enough with the characters that it worked out all right. Even though he's a heavy read that took me a while to get through, I will definitely seek out and read more Dumas in the future.

      ****
      4 out of 5 stars

    Book preview

    The Man in the Iron Mask - Alexandre Dumas

    Chapter 1

    The Prisoner

    SINCE ARAMIS’ SINGULAR TRANSFORMATION INTO A CONFESSOR of the order, Baisemeaux was no longer the same man. Up to that period, the place which Aramis had held in the worthy governor’s estimation was that of a prelate whom he respected and a friend to whom he owned a debt of gratitude; but now he felt himself an inferior, and that Aramis was his master. He himself lighted a lantern, summoned a turnkey, and said, returning to Aramis:

    I am at your orders, monseigneur.

    Aramis merely nodded his head, as much to say, Very good, and signed to him with his hand to lead the way. Baisemeaux advanced, and Aramis followed him. It was a beautiful starry night; the steps of three men resounded on the flags of the terraces, and the clinking of the keys hanging from the jailer’s girdle made itself heard up to the stories of the towers, as if to remind the prisoners that liberty was out of their reach. It might have been said that the alteration effected in Baisemeaux had extended itself even to the prisoners. The turnkey, the same who, on Aramis’ first arrival, had shown himself so inquisitive and curious, had now become not only silent, but even impassible. He held his head down, and seemed afraid to keep his ears open. In this wise they reached the basement of the Bertaudiere, the two first stories of which were mounted silently and somewhat slowly; for Baisemeaux, though far from disobeying, was far from exhibiting any eagerness to obey. On arriving at the door Baisemeaux showed a disposition to enter the prisoner’s chamber; but Aramis, stopping him on the threshold, said:

    The rules do not allow the governor to hear the prisoner’s confession.

    Baisemeaux bowed, and made way for Aramis, who took the lantern and entered; and then signed to them to close the door behind him. For an instant he remained standing, listening whether Baisemeaux and the turnkey had retired; but as soon as he was assured by the sound of their dying footsteps that they had left the tower, he put the lantern on the table and gazed around. On a bed of green serge, similar in all respects to the other beds in the Bastile, save that it was newer, and under curtains half-drawn, reposed a young man, to whom we have already once before introduced Aramis. According to custom, the prisoner was without a light. At the hour of curfew he was bound to extinguish his lamp, and we perceive how much he was favored in being allowed to keep it burning, even till then. Near the bed a large leather armchair, with twisted legs, sustained his clothes. A little table—without pens, books, paper, or ink—stood neglected in sadness near the window; while several plates, still unemptied, showed that the prisoner had scarcely touched his recent repast. Aramis saw that the young man was stretched upon his bed, his face half-concealed by his arms. The arrival of a visitor did not cause any change of position; either he was waiting in expectation or was asleep. Aramis lighted the candle from the lantern, pushed back the armchair, and approached the bed with an evident mixture of interest and respect. The young man raised his head.

    What is it? said he.

    Have you not desired a confessor? replied Aramis.

    Yes.

    Because you are ill?

    Yes.

    Very ill?

    The young man gave Aramis a piercing glance, and answered:

    I thank you. After a moment’s silence, I have seen you before, he continued.

    Aramis bowed.

    Doubtless, the scruitiny the prisoner had just made of the cold, crafty, and imperious character stamped upon the features of the bishop of Vannes was little reassuring to one in his situation, for he added:

    I am better.

    And then? said Aramis.

    Why, then, being better, I have no longer the same need of a confessor, I think.

    Not even of the haircloth, which the note you found in your bread informed you of?

    The young man started; but before he had either assented or denied, Aramis continued:

    Not even of the ecclesiastic from whom you were to hear an important revelation?

    If it be so, said the young man, sinking again on his pillow, it is different; I listen.

    Aramis then looked at him more closely, and was struck with the easy majesty of his mien, one which can never be acquired unless Heaven has implanted it in the blood or heart.

    Sit down, monsieur, said the prisoner. Aramis bowed, and obeyed.

    How does the Bastile agree with you? asked the bishop.

    Very well.

    You do not suffer?

    No.

    You have nothing to regret?

    Nothing.

    Not even your liberty?

    What do you call liberty, monsieur? asked the prisoner, with the tone of a man who is preparing for a struggle.

    I call liberty the flowers, the air, light, the stars, the happiness of going whithersoever the nervous limbs of twenty years of age may wish to carry you.

    The young man smiled, whether in resignation or contempt it was difficult to tell.

    Look, said he, I have in that Japanese vase two roses gathered yesterday evening in the bud from the governor’s garden; this morning they have blown and spread their vermilion chalice beneath my gaze; with every opening petal they unfold the treasures of their perfume, filling my chamber with a fragrance that embalms it. Look, now, on these two roses; even among roses these are beautiful, and the rose is the most beautiful of flowers. Why, then, do you bid me desire other flowers when I possess the loveliest of all?

    Aramis gazed at the young man in surprise.

    "If flowers constitute liberty, sadly resumed the captive, I am free, for I possess them."

    But the air! cried Aramis; air so necessary to life!

    Well, monsieur, returned the prisoner, draw near to the window; it is open. Between heaven and earth the wind whirls on its storms of hail and lightning, wafts its warm mists, or breathes in gentle breezes. It caresses my face. When mounted on the back of this armchair, with my arm around the bars of the window to sustain myself, I fancy I am swimming in the wide expanse before me.

    The countenance of Aramis darkened as the young man continued:

    Light I have; what is better than light? I have the sun, a friend who comes to visit me every day, without the permission of the governor or the jailer’s company. He comes in at the window, and traces in my room a square the shape of the window, and which lights up the hangings of my bed down to the border. This luminous square increases from ten o’clock till midday, and decreases from one till three slowly, as if, having hastened to come, it sorrowed at leaving me. When its last ray disappears I have enjoyed its presence for four hours. Is not that sufficient? I have been told that there are unhappy beings who dig in quarries, and laborers who toil in mines, and who never behold it at all.

    Aramis wiped the drops from his brow.

    As to the stars, which are so delightful to view, continued the young man, they all resemble one another, save in size and brilliancy. I am a favored mortal, for if you had not lighted that candle you would have been able to see the beautiful stars which I was gazing at from my couch before your arrival, and whose rays were playing over my eyes.

    Aramis lowered his head; he felt himself overwhelmed with the bitter flow of that sinister philosophy which is the religion of the captive.

    So much, then, for the flowers, the air, the daylight, and the stars, tranquilly continued the man; there remains but my exercise. Do I not walk all day in the governor’s garden if it is fine—here if it rains? in the fresh air if it is warm; in the warm, thanks to my winter stove, if it be cold? Ah, monsieur, do you fancy, continued the prisoner, not without bitterness, that men have not done everything for me that a man can hope for or desire?

    Men! said Aramis. Be it so; but it seems to me you forget Heaven.

    Indeed I have forgotten Heaven, murmured the prisoner, with emotion; but why do you mention it? Of what use is it to talk to a prisoner of Heaven?

    Aramis looked steadily at this singular youth, who possessed the resignation of a martyr with the smile of an atheist.

    Is not Heaven in everything? he murmured, in a reproachful tone.

    Say, rather, at the end of everything, answered the prisoner firmly.

    Be it so, said Aramis; but let us return to our starting-point.

    I desire nothing better, returned the young man.

    I am your confessor.

    Yes.

    Well, then, you ought, as a penitent, to tell me the truth.

    All that I wish is to tell it you.

    "Every prisoner has committed some crime for which he has been imprisoned. What crime, then, have you committed?"

    You asked me the same question the first time you saw me, returned the prisoner.

    And then, as now, you evaded giving me an answer.

    And what reason have you for thinking that I shall now reply to you?

    Because this time I am your confessor.

    Then, if you wish me to tell what crime I have committed, explain to me in what a crime consists. For as my conscience does not accuse me, I aver that I am not a criminal.

    We are often criminals in the sight of the great of the earth, not alone for having ourselves committed crimes, but because we know that crimes have been committed.

    The prisoner manifested the deepest attention.

    Yes, I understand you, he said, after a pause; yes, you are right, monsieur; it is very possible that in that light I am a criminal in the eyes of the great of the earth.

    Ah! then you know something, said Aramis, who thought he had pierced not merely through a defect in, but through the joints of the harness.

    No, I am not aware of anything, replied the young man; but sometimes I think—and I say to myself——

    What do you say to yourself?

    That if I were to think any further I should either go mad or I should divine a great deal.

    And then—and then? said Aramis impatiently.

    Then I leave off.

    You leave off?

    "Yes; my head becomes confused, and my ideas melancholy; I feel ennui overtaking me; I wish——"

    What?

    I don’t know; but I do not like to give myself up to longing for things which I do not possess, when I am so happy with what I have.

    You are afraid of death? said Aramis, with a slight uneasiness.

    Yes, said the young man, smiling.

    Aramis felt the chill of that smile, and shuddered.

    Oh, as you fear death, you know more about matters than you say, he cried.

    And you, returned the prisoner, who bid me to ask to see you; you, who, when I did ask to see you, came here promising a world of confidence; how is it that, nevertheless, it is you who are silent, and ’tis I who speak? Since, then, we both wear masks, either let us both retain them or put them aside together.

    Aramis felt the force and justice of the remark, saying to himself:

    This is no ordinary man; I must be cautious. Are you ambitious? said he suddenly to the prisoner, aloud, without preparing him for the alteration.

    What do you mean by ambition? replied the youth.

    It is, replied Aramis, a feeling which prompts a man to desire more than he has.

    I said that I was contented, monsieur; but, perhaps, I deceive myself. I am ignorant of the nature of ambition; but it is not impossible I may have some. Tell me your mind; ’tis all I wish.

    An ambitious man, said Aramis, is one who covets what is beyond his station.

    I covet nothing beyond my station, said the young man, with an assurance of manner which for the second time made the bishop of Vannes tremble.

    He was silent. But, to look at the kindling eye, the knitted brow, and the reflective attitude of the captive, it was evident that he expected something more than silence—a silence which Aramis now broke.

    You lied the first time I saw you, said he.

    Lied! cried the young man, starting up on his couch, with such a tone in his voice, and such a lightning in his eyes, that Aramis recoiled in spite of himself.

    "I should say, returned Aramis, bowing, you concealed from me what you knew of your infancy."

    A man’s secrets are his own, monsieur, retorted the prisoner, and not at the mercy of the first chance comer.

    True, said Aramis, bowing still lower than before, ’tis true. Pardon me, but to-day, do I still occupy the place of a chance comer? I beseech you to reply, monseigneur.

    This title slightly disturbed the prisoner; but nevertheless he did not appear astonished that it was given him.

    I do not know you, monsieur, said he.

    Oh, if I but dared, I would take your hand and would kiss it!

    The young man seemed as if he were going to give Aramis his hand; but the light which beamed in his eyes faded away and he coldly and distrustfully withdrew his hand again.

    Kiss the hand of a prisoner, he said, shaking his head; to what purpose?

    Why did you tell me, said Aramis, that you were happy here? Why, that you aspired to nothing? Why, in a word, by thus speaking, do you prevent me from being frank in my turn?

    The same light shone a third time in the young man’s eyes, but died ineffectually away as before.

    You distrust me, said Aramis.

    And why say you so, monsieur?

    Oh, for a very simple reason; if you know what you ought to know, you ought to mistrust everybody.

    Then be not astonished that I am mistrustful, since you suspect me of knowing what I know not.

    Aramis was struck with admiration at this energetic resistance.

    Oh, monseigneur, you drive me to despair! said he, striking the armchair with his fist.

    And, on my part, I do not comprehend you, monsieur.

    Well, then, try to understand me.

    The prisoner looked fixedly at Aramis.

    Sometimes it seems to me, said the latter, that I have before me the man whom I seek, and then——

    And then your man disappears—is it not so? said the prisoner, smiling. So much the better.

    Aramis rose.

    Certainly, said he; I have nothing further to say to a man who mistrusts me as you do.

    And I, monsieur, said the prisoner, in the same tone, have nothing to say to a man who will not understand that a prisoner ought to be mistrustful of everybody.

    Even of his old friends, said Aramis. "Oh, monseigneur, you are too prudent!"

    Of my old friends?—you one of my old friends—you?

    Do you no longer remember, said Aramis, that you once saw, in the village where your early years were spent——

    Do you know the name of the village? asked the prisoner.

    Noisy-le-Sec, monseigneur, answered Aramis firmly.

    Go on, said the young man, with an immovable aspect.

    Stay, monseigneur, said Aramis; if you are positively resolved to carry on this game, let us break off. I am here to tell you many things, ’tis true; but you must allow me to see that, on your side, you have a desire to know them. Before revealing the important matters I conceal, be assured I am in need of some encouragement, if not candor; a little sympathy, if not confidence. But you keep yourself intrenched in a pretended ignorance which paralyzes me. Oh, not for the reason you think; for, ignorant as you may be, or indifferent as you feign to be, you are none the less what you are, monseigneur, and there is nothing—nothing, mark me—which can cause you not to be so.

    I promise you, replied the prisoner, "to hear you without impatience. Only it appears to me that I have a right to repeat the question I have already asked—‘Who are you?’"

    Do you remember, fifteen or eighteen years ago, seeing at Noisy-le-Sec a cavalier, accompanied by a lady in black silk, with flame-colored ribbons in her hair?

    Yes, said the young man; I once asked the name of this cavalier, and they told me he called himself the Abbé d’Herblay. I was astonished that the abbé had so warlike an air, and they replied that there was nothing singular in that, seeing that he was one of Louis XIII’s musketeers.

    Well, said Aramis, that musketeer and abbé, afterward bishop of Vannes, is your confessor now.

    I know it; I recognized you.

    "Then, monseigneur, if you know that, I must further add a fact of which you are ignorant—that if the king were to know this evening of the presence of this musketeer, this abbé, this bishop, this confessor, here—he, who has risked everything to visit you, would to-morrow see glitter the executioner’s ax at the bottom of a dungeon more gloomy and more obscure than yours."

    While hearing these words, delivered with emphasis, the young man had raised himself on his couch, and gazed more and more eagerly at Aramis.

    The result of his scrutiny was that he appeared to derive some confidence from it.

    Yes, he murmured, I remember perfectly. The woman of whom you speak came once with you, and twice afterward with another.

    He hesitated.

    With another woman, who came to see you every month—is it not so, monseigneur?

    Yes.

    Do you know who this lady was?

    The light seemed ready to flash from the prisoner’s eyes.

    I am aware that she was one of the ladies of the court, he said.

    You remember that lady well, do you not?

    Oh, my recollection can hardly be very confused on this head, said the young prisoner. I saw that lady once with a gentleman about forty-five years old. I saw her once with you, and with the lady dressed in black. I have seen her twice since with the same person. These four people, with my master, and old Perronnette, my jailer, and the governor of the prison, are the only persons with whom I have ever spoken, and, indeed, almost the only persons I have ever seen.

    Then, you were in prison?

    If I am a prisoner here, there I was comparatively free, although in a very narrow sense—a house which I never quitted, a garden surrounded with walls I could not clear, these constituted my residence; but you know it, as you have been there. In a word, being accustomed to live within these bounds, I never cared to leave them. And so you will understand, monsieur, that, not having seen anything of the world, I have nothing left to care for; and, therefore, if you relate anything, you will be obliged to explain everything to me.

    And I will do so, said Aramis, bowing, for it is my duty, monseigneur.

    Well, then, begin by telling me who was my tutor.

    A worthy and, above all, an honorable gentleman, monseigneur; fit guide both for body and soul. Had you ever any reason to complain of him’?

    Oh, no; quite the contrary. But this gentleman of yours often used to tell me that my father and mother were dead. Did he deceive me, or did he speak the truth?

    He was compelled to comply with the orders given him.

    Then he lied?

    In one respect. Your father is dead.

    And my mother?

    She is dead for you.

    But, then, she lives for others, does she not?

    Yes.

    And I—I, then (the young man looked sharply at Aramis), am compelled to live in the obscurity of a prison?

    Alas! I fear so.

    And that, because my presence in the world would lead to the revelation of a great secret?

    Certainly, a very great secret.

    My enemy must indeed be powerful, to be able to shut up in the Bastile a child such as I then was.

    He is.

    More powerful than my mother, then?

    And why do you ask that?

    Because my mother would have taken my part.

    Aramis hesitated.

    Yes, monseigneur; more powerful than your mother.

    Seeing, then, that my nurse and preceptor were carried off, and that I, also, was separated from them—either they were, or I am, very dangerous to my enemy?

    Yes; a peril from which he freed himself, by causing the nurse and preceptor to disappear, answered Aramis quietly.

    Disappear! cried the prisoner—but how did they disappear?

    In the surest possible way, answered Aramis—they are dead.

    The young man turned visibly pale, and passed his hand tremblingly over his face.

    From poison? he asked.

    From poison.

    The prisoner reflected a moment.

    My enemy must, indeed, have been very cruel, or hard beset by necessity, to assassinate those two innocent people, my sole support; for the worthy gentleman and the poor nurse had never harmed a living being.

    In your family, monseigneur, necessity is stern. And so it is necessity which compels me, to my great regret, to tell you that this gentleman and the unhappy lady have been assassinated.

    Oh, you tell me nothing I am not aware of, said the prisoner, knitting his brows.

    How?

    I suspected it.

    Why?

    I will tell you.

    At this moment the young man, supporting himself on his two elbows, drew close to Aramis’ face, with such an expression of dignity, of self-command, and of defiance even, that the bishop felt the electricity of enthusiasm strike in devouring flashes from that sacred heart of his into his brain of adamant.

    Speak, monseigneur. I have already told you that by conversing with you I endanger my life. Little value as it has, I implore you to accept it as the ransom of your own.

    Well, resumed the young man, this is why I suspected that they killed my nurse and my preceptor.

    Whom you used to call your father?

    Yes; whom I called my father, but whose son I well knew I was not.

    Who caused you to suppose so?

    For the same reason that you, monsieur, are too respectful for a friend, he was also too respectful for a father.

    I, however, said Aramis, have no intention to disguise myself.

    The young man nodded assent, and continued:

    Undoubtedly, I was not destined to perpetual seclusion, said the prisoner; and that which makes me believe so, above all, now, is the care that was taken to render me as accomplished a cavalier as possible. The gentleman attached to my person taught me everything he knew himself—mathematics, a little geometry, astronomy, fencing, and riding. Every morning I went through military exercises, and practiced on horseback. Well, one morning, during summer, it being very hot, I went to sleep in the hall. Nothing up to that period, except the respect paid me, had enlightened me, or even roused my suspicions. I lived as children, as birds, as plants, as the air and the sun do. I had just turned my fifteenth year——

    This, then, is eight years ago?

    Yes, nearly; but I have ceased to reckon time.

    Excuse me; but what did your tutor tell you to encourage you to work?

    He used to say that a man was bound to make for himself, in the world, that fortune which Heaven had refused him at his birth. He added, that, being a poor, obscure orphan, I had no one but myself to look to; and that nobody either did, or ever would, take any interest in me. I was then in the hall I have spoken of, asleep from fatigue in fencing. My preceptor was in his room on the first floor, just over me. Suddenly I heard him exclaim, and then he called: ‘Perronnette! Perronnette!’ It was my nurse whom he called.

    Yes, I know it, said Aramis. Continue, monseigneur.

    Very likely she was in the garden, for my preceptor came hastily downstairs. I rose, anxious at seeing him anxious. He opened the garden-door, still crying out, ‘Perronnette! Perronnette!’ The windows of the hall looked into the court; the shutters were closed; but through a chink in them I saw my tutor draw near a large well, which was almost directly under the windows of his study. He stooped over the brim, looked into the well, again cried out, and made wild and affrighted gestures. Where I was, I could not only see, but hear—and see and hear I did.

    Go on, I pray you, said Aramis.

    Dame Perronnette came running up, hearing the governor’s cries. He went to meet her, took her by the arm, and drew her quickly toward the edge; after which, as they both bent over it together, ‘Look, look,’ cried he, ‘what a misfortune!’

    "‘Calm yourself, calm yourself,’ said Perronnette; ‘what is the matter?’

    "‘The letter!’ he exclaimed; ‘do you see that letter?’ pointing to the bottom of the well.

    "‘What letter?’ she cried.

    "‘The letter you see down there; the last letter from the queen.’

    "At this word I trembled. My tutor—he who passed for my father, he who was continually recommending me modesty and humility—in correspondence with the queen.

    "‘The queen’s last letter!’ cried Perronnette, without showing more astonishment than at seeing this letter at the bottom of the well; ‘but how came it there?’

    "‘A chance, Dame Perronnette—a singular chance. I was entering my room, and on opening the door, the window, too, being open, a puff of air came suddenly and carried off this paper—this letter of her majesty’s; I darted after it, and gained the window just in time to see it flutter a moment in the breeze and disappear down the well.’

    "‘Well,’ said Dame Perronnette; ‘and if the letter has fallen into the well ’tis all the same as if it was burned; as the queen burns all her letters every time she comes——’

    And so, you see, this lady who came every month was the queen, said the prisoner.

    "‘Doubtless, doubtless,’ continued the old gentleman; ‘but this letter contained instructions—how can I follow them?’

    "‘Write immediately to her; give her a plain account of the accident, and the queen will no doubt write you another letter in place of this.’

    ‘Oh! the queen would never believe the story,’ said the good gentleman, shaking his head; ‘she will imagine that I want to keep this letter instead of giving it up like the rest, so as to have a hold over her. She is so distrustful, and Monsieur de Mazarin so—This devil of an Italian is capable of having us poisoned at the first breath of suspicion.’

    Aramis almost imperceptibly smiled.

    "‘You know, Dame Perronnette, they are both so suspicious in all that concerns Philippe.’

    ‘Philippe’ was the name they gave me, said the prisoner.

    "‘Well, ’tis no use hesitating,’ said Dame Perronnette, ‘somebody must go down the well.’

    "‘Of course; so that the person who goes down may read the paper as he is coming up.’

    "‘But let us choose some villager who cannot read, and then you will be at ease.’

    "‘Granted; but will not any one who descends guess that a paper must be important for which we risk a man’s life? However, you have given me an idea, Dame Perronnette; somebody shall go down the well, but that somebody shall be myself.’

    "But at this notion Dame Perronnette lamented and cried in such a manner, and so implored the old nobleman, with tears in her eyes, that he promised her to obtain a ladder long enough to reach down, while she went in search of some stout-hearted youth, whom she was to persuade that a jewel had fallen into the well, and that this jewel was wrapped in a paper. ‘And as paper,’ remarked my preceptor, ‘naturally unfolds in water, the young man would not be surprised at finding nothing, after all, but the letter wide open.’

    "‘But perhaps the writing will be already effaced by that time,’ said Dame Perronnette.

    "‘No consequence, provided we secure the letter. On returning it to the queen she will see at once that we have not betrayed her; and, consequently, as we shall not rouse the distrust of Mazarin, we shall have nothing to fear from him.’

    Having come to this resolution, they parted. I pushed back the shutter, and, seeing that my tutor was about to re-enter, I threw myself on my couch, in a confusion of brain caused by all I had just heard. My governor opened the door a few moments after, and thinking I was asleep, gently closed it again. As soon as ever it was shut I rose, and listening, heard the sound of retiring footsteps. Then I returned to the shutter, and saw my tutor and Dame Perronnette go out together. I was alone in the house. They had hardly closed the gate before I sprang from the window and ran to the well. Then, just as my governor had leaned over, so leaned I. Something white and luminous glistened in the green and quivering ripples of the water. The brilliant disk fascinated and allured me; my eyes became fixed, and I could hardly breathe. The well seemed to draw me in with its large mouth and icy breath; and I thought I read, at the bottom of the water, characters of fire traced upon the letter the queen had touched. Then, scarcely knowing what I was about, and urged on by one of those instinctive impulses which drive men upon their destruction, I lowered the cord from the windlass of the well to within about three feet of the water, leaving the bucket dangling, and at the same time taking infinite pains not to disturb that coveted letter, which was beginning to change its white tint for a greenish hue—proof enough that it was sinking—and then, with the rope weltering in my hands, slid down into the abyss. When I saw myself hanging over the dark pool, when I saw the sky lessening above my head, a cold shudder came over me, a chill fear got the better of me, I was seized with giddiness, and the hair rose on my head; but my strong will still reigned supreme over all the terror and disquietude. I gained the water, and at once plunged into it, holding on by one hand, while I immersed the other and seized the dear letter, which, alas! came in two in my grasp. I concealed the two fragments in my body-coat, and, helping myself with my feet against the sides of the pit, and clinging on with my hands, agile and vigorous as I was, and, above all, pressed for time, I regained the brink, drenching it as I touched it with the water that streamed off me. I was no sooner out of the well with my prize than I rushed into the sunlight, and took refuge in a kind of shrubbery at the bottom of the garden. As I entered my hiding-place, the bell which resounded when the great gate was opened, rang. It was my preceptor come back again. I had but just time. I calculated that it would take ten minutes before he would gain my place of concealment, even if, guessing where I was, he came straight to it; and twenty if he were obliged to look for me. But this was time enough to allow me to read the cherished letter, whose fragments I hastened to unite again. The writing was already fading, but I managed to decipher it all.

    And what read you there, monseigneur? asked Aramis, deeply interested.

    Quite enough, monsieur, to see that my tutor was a man of noble rank, and that Perronnette, without being a lady of quality, was far better than a servant; and also to perceive that I must myself be high-born, since the queen, Anne of Austria, and Mazarin, the prime minister, commended me so earnestly to their care.

    Here the young man paused, quite overcome.

    And what happened? asked Aramis.

    It happened, monsieur, answered he, that the workmen they had summoned found nothing in the well, after the closest search; that my governor perceived that the brink was all watery; that I was not so dried by the sun as to escape Dame Perronnette’s observing that my garments were moist; and, lastly, that I was seized with a violent fever, owing to the chill and the excitement of my discovery, an attack of delirium supervening, during which I related the whole adventure; so that, guided by my avowal, my governor found under the bolster the two pieces of the queen’s letter.

    Ah! said Aramis, now I understand.

    Beyond this, all is conjecture. Doubtless the unfortunate lady and gentleman, not daring to keep the occurrence secret, wrote all to the queen, and sent back to her the torn letter.

    After which, said Aramis, you were arrested and removed to the Bastile.

    As you see.

    Then your two attendants disappeared?

    Alas!

    Let us not take up our time with the dead, but see what can be done with the living. You told me you were resigned.

    I repeat it.

    Without any desire for freedom?

    As I told you.

    Without ambition, sorrow, or thought?

    The young man made no answer.

    Well, asked Aramis, why are you silent?

    I think I have spoken enough, answered the prisoner, and that now it is your turn. I am weary.

    Aramis gathered himself up, and a shade of deep solemnity spread itself over his countenance. It was evident that he had reached the crisis in the part he had come to the prison to play.

    One question, said Aramis.

    What is it? Speak.

    In the house you inhabited, there were neither looking-glasses nor mirrors?

    What are those two words, and what is their meaning? asked the young man. I have no sort of knowledge of them.

    They designate two pieces of furniture which reflect objects; so that, for instance, you may see in them your own lineaments, as you see mine now, with the naked eye.

    No; then there was neither a glass nor a mirror in the house, answered the young man.

    Aramis looked round him.

    Nor is there here either, he said; they have again taken the same precaution.

    To what end?

    You will know directly. Now, you have told me that you were instructed in mathematics, astronomy, fencing, and riding; but you have not said a word about history.

    My tutor sometimes related to me the principal deeds of the King St. Louis, King Francis I, and King Henry IV.

    Is that all?

    Very nearly.

    This also was done by design, then; just as they deprived you of mirrors, which reflect the present, so they left you in ignorance of history, which reflects the past. Since your imprisonment, books have been forbidden you; so that you are unacquainted with a number of facts, by means of which you would be able to reconstruct the shattered edifice of your recollections and your hopes.

    It is true, said the young man.

    Listen, then; I will in a few words tell you what has passed in France during the last twenty-three or twenty-four years; that is, from the probable date of your birth; in a word, from the time that interests you.

    Say on.

    And the young man resumed his serious and attentive attitude.

    Do you know who was the son of Henry IV?

    At least, I know who his successor was.

    How?

    By means of a coin dated 1610, which bears the effigy of Henry IV; and another of 1612, bearing that of Louis XIII. So I presumed that, there being only two years between the two dates, Louis was Henry’s successor.

    Then, said Aramis, you know that the last reigning monarch was Louis XIII?

    I do, answered the youth, slightly reddening.

    Well, he was a prince full of noble ideas and great projects, always, alas! deferred by trouble of the times and the struggle that his minister, Richelieu, had to maintain against the great nobles of France. The king himself was of a feeble character, and died young and unhappy.

    I know it.

    He had been long anxious about having an heir; a care which weighs heavily on princes, who desire to leave behind them more than one pledge that their thoughts and their works will be continued.

    Did the king, then, die childless? asked the prisoner, smiling.

    No, but he was long without one, and for a long while thought he should be the last of his race. This idea had reduced him to the depths of despair, when suddenly, his wife, Anne of Austria——

    The prisoner trembled.

    Did you know, said Aramis, that Louis XIII’s wife was called Anne of Austria?

    Continue, said the young man, without replying to the question.

    When suddenly, resumed Aramis, the queen announced an interesting event. There was great joy at the intelligence, and all prayed for her happy delivery. On the 5th of September, 1638, she gave birth to a son.

    Here Aramis looked at his companion, and thought he observed him turning pale.

    You are about to hear, said Aramis, an account which few could now give; for it refers to a secret which they think buried with the dead, or entombed in the abyss of the confessional.

    And you will tell me this secret, broke in the youth.

    Oh! said Aramis, with unmistakable emphasis, I do not know that I ought to risk this secret by intrusting it to one who has no desire to quit the Bastile.

    I hear you, monsieur.

    The queen, then, gave birth to a son. But while the court was rejoicing over the event, when the king had shown the new-born child to the nobility and people, and was sitting gayly down to table, to celebrate the event, the queen, who was alone in her room, was again taken ill and gave birth to a second son.

    Oh! said the prisoner, betraying a better acquaintance with affairs than he had owned to, I thought that Monsieur was only born a——

    Aramis raised his finger.

    Let me continue, said he.

    The prisoner sighed impatiently, and paused.

    Yes, said Aramis, the queen had a second son, whom Dame Perronnette, the midwife, received in her arms.

    Dame Perronnette! murmured the young man.

    They ran at once to the banqueting-room, and whispered to the king what had happened; he rose and quitted the table. But this time it was no longer happiness that his face expressed, but something akin to terror. The birth of twins changed into bitterness the joy to which that of an only son had given rise, seeing that in France (a fact you are assuredly ignorant of), it is the oldest of the kings’ sons who succeeds his father.

    I know it.

    And that the doctors and jurists assert that there is ground for doubting whether he who first makes his appearance is the elder by the law of Heaven and of nature.

    The prisoner uttered a smothered cry, and became whiter than the coverlet under which he hid himself.

    Now you understand, pursued Aramis, that the king, who, with so much pleasure, saw himself repeated in one, was in despair about two; fearing that the second might dispute the first’s claim to seniority, which had been recognized only two hours before; and so this second son, relying on party interests and caprices, might one day sow discord and engender civil war in the kingdom; by these means destroying the very dynasty he should have strengthened.

    Oh, I understand! I understand! murmured the young man.

    Well, continued Aramis, this is what they relate, what they declare; this is why one of the queen’s two sons, shamefully parted from his brother, shamefully sequestered, is buried in the profoundest obscurity; this is why that second son has disappeared, and so completely that not a soul in France, save his mother, is aware of his existence.

    Yes, his mother, who has cast him off, cried the prisoner, in a tone of despair.

    Except, also, Aramis went on, the lady in the black dress; and, finally, excepting——

    Excepting yourself. Is it not? You who come and relate all this; you, who rouse in my soul curiosity, hatred, ambition, and, perhaps, even the thirst of vengeance; except you, monsieur, who, if you are the man whom I expect, whom the note I have received applies to; whom, in short, Heaven ought to send me, must possess about you——

    What? asked Aramis.

    A portrait of the king, Louis XIV, who at this moment reigns upon the throne of France.

    Here is the portrait, replied the bishop, handing the prisoner a miniature in enamel, on which Louis was depicted life-like, with a handsome, lofty mien. The prisoner eagerly seized the portrait, and gazed at it with devouring eyes.

    And now, monseigneur, said Aramis, here is a mirror.

    Aramis left the prisoner time to recover his ideas.

    So high! so high! murmured the young man, eagerly comparing the likeness of Louis with his own countenance reflected in the glass.

    What do you think of it? at length said Aramis.

    I think that I am lost, replied the captive; the king will never set me free.

    And I—I demand, added the bishop, fixing his piercing eyes significantly upon the prisoner, I demand which of the two is the king; the one whom this miniature portrays, or whom the glass reflects?

    The king, monsieur, sadly replied the young man, is he who is on the throne, who is not in prison; and who, on the other hand, can cause others to be entombed there. Royalty is power; and you see well how powerless I am.

    Monseigneur, answered Aramis, with a respect he had not yet manifested, the king, mark me, will, if you desire it, be he who, quitting his dungeon, shall maintain himself upon the throne, on which his friends will place him.

    Tempt me not, monsieur, broke in the prisoner bitterly.

    Be not weak, monseigneur, persisted Aramis; I have brought all the proofs of your birth; consult them; satisfy yourself that you are a king’s son; and then let us act.

    No, no; it is impossible.

    Unless, indeed, resumed the bishop ironically, "it be the destiny of your race that the brothers excluded from the throne should be always princes void of courage and honesty, as was your uncle, Monsieur Gaston d’Orleans, who ten times conspired against his brother, Louis

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1