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The Man in the Iron Mask
Alexandre Dumas
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The Man in the Iron Mask
Alexandre Dumas
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AltertumswissenschaftenCHAPTER 1
The Prisoner.
Since Aramisās 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 governorās estimation was that of a prelate whom he respected and a friend to whom he owed 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, āI am at your orders, monseigneur.ā Aramis merely nodded his head, as much as to say, āVery goodā; and signed to him with his hand to lead the way. Baisemeaux advanced, and Aramis followed him. It was a calm and lovely starlit night; the steps of three men resounded on the flags of the terraces, and the clinking of the keys hanging from the jailerās girdle made itself heard up to the stories of the towers, as if to remind the prisoners that the liberty of earth was a luxury beyond their reach. It might have been said that the alteration effected in Baisemeaux extended even to the prisoners. The turnkey, the same who, on Aramisās first arrival had shown himself so inquisitive and curious, was now not only silent, but 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 prisonerās chamber; but Aramis, stopping him on the threshold, said, āThe rules do not allow the governor to hear the prisonerās confession.ā
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 descending 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 respect to the other beds in the Bastille, 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 leathern armchair, with twisted legs, sustained his clothes. A little tableāwithout pens, books, paper, or inkāstood neglected in sadness near the window; while several plates, still unemptied, showed that the prisoner had scarcely touched his evening meal. 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 caused 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. āWhat is it?ā said he.
āYou desired a confessor?ā replied Aramis.
āYes.ā
āBecause you were ill?ā
āYes.ā
āVery ill?ā
The young man gave Aramis a piercing glance, and answered, āI thank you.ā After a momentās silence, āI have seen you before,ā he continued. Aramis bowed.
Doubtless the scrutiny 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, āI am better.ā
āAnd so?ā said Aramis.
āWhy, thenābeing better, I have no longer the same need of a confessor, I think.ā
āNot even of the hair-cloth, which the note you found in your bread informed you of?ā
The young man started; but before he had either assented or denied, Aramis continued, āNot even of the ecclesiastic from whom you were to hear an important revelation?ā
āIf it be so,ā said the young man, sinking again on his pillow, āit is different; I am listening.ā
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. āSit down, monsieur,ā said the prisoner.
Aramis bowed and obeyed. āHow does the Bastille agree with you?ā asked the bishop.
āVery well.ā
āYou do not suffer?ā
āNo.ā
āYou have nothing to regret?ā
āNothing.ā
āNot even your liberty?ā
āWhat do you call liberty, monsieur?ā asked the prisoner, with the tone of a man who is preparing for a struggle.
āI call liberty, the flowers, the air, light, the stars, the happiness of going whithersoever the sinewy limbs of one-and-twenty chance to wish to carry you.ā
The young man smiled, whether in resignation or contempt, it was difficult to tell. āLook,ā said he, āI have in that Japanese vase two roses gathered yesterday evening in the bud from the governorās garden; this morning they have blown and spread their vermilion chalice beneath my gaze; with every opening petal they unfold the treasures of their perfumes, 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?ā
Aramis gazed at the young man in surprise.
āIf flowers constitute liberty,ā sadly resumed the captive, āI am free, for I possess them.ā
āBut the air!ā cried Aramis; āair is so necessary to life!ā
āWell, monsieur,ā returned the prisoner; ādraw near to the window; it is open. Between high heaven and earth the wind whirls on its waftages of hail and lightning, exhales its torrid mist 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 the wide expanse before me.ā The countenance of Aramis darkened as the young man continued: āLight 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 jailerās company. He comes in at the window, and traces in my room a square the shape of the window, which lights up the hangings of my bed and floods the very floor. This luminous square increases from ten oāclock till midday, and decreases from one till three slowly, as if, having hastened to my presence, it sorrowed at bidding me farewell. When its last ray disappears I have enjoyed its presence for five hours. Is not that sufficient? I have been told that there are unhappy beings who dig in quarries, and laborers who toil in mines, who never behold it at all.ā Aramis wiped the drops from his brow. āAs to the stars which are so delightful to view,ā continued the young man, āthey all resemble each other 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, whose silvery rays were stealing through my brain.ā
Aramis lowered his head; he felt himself overwhelmed with the bitter flow of that sinister philosophy which is the religion of the captive.
āSo much, then, for the flowers, the air, the daylight, and the stars,ā tranquilly continued the young man; āthere remains but exercise. Do I not walk all day in the governorās garden if it is fineāhere if it rains? in the fresh air if it is warm; in perfect warmth, thanks to my winter stove, if it be cold? Ah! monsieur, do you fancy,ā continued the prisoner, not without bitterness, āthat men have not done everything for me that a man can hope for or desire?ā
āMen!ā said Aramis; ābe it so; but it seems to me you are forgetting Heaven.ā
āIndeed I have forgotten Heaven,ā murmured the prisoner, with emotion; ābut why do you mention it? Of what use is it to talk to a prisoner of Heaven?ā
Aramis looked steadily at this singular youth, who possessed the resignation of a martyr with the smile of an atheist. āIs not Heaven in everything?ā he murmured in a reproachful tone.
āSay rather, at the end of everything,ā answered the prisoner, firmly.
āBe it so,ā said Aramis; ābut let us return to our starting-point.ā
āI ask nothing better,ā returned the young man.
āI am your confessor.ā
āYes.ā
āWell, then, you ought, as a penitent, to tell me the truth.ā
āMy whole desire is to tell it you.ā
āEvery prisoner has committed some crime for which he has been imprisoned. What crime, then, have you committed?ā
āYou asked me the same question the first time you saw me,ā returned the prisoner.
āAnd then, as now you evaded giving me an answer.ā
āAnd what reason have you for thinking that I shall now reply to you?ā
āBecause this time I am your confessor.ā
āThen 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.ā
āWe 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.ā
The prisoner manifested the deepest attention.
āYes, I understand you,ā he said, after a pause; āyes, you are right, monsieur; it is very possible that, in such a light, I am a criminal in the eyes of the great of the earth.ā
āAh! then you know something,ā said Aramis, who thought he had pierced not merely through a defect in the harness, but through the joints of it.
āNo, I am not aware of anything,ā replied the young man; ābut sometimes I thinkāand I say to myselfāā
āWhat do you say to yourself?ā
āThat if I were to think but a little more deeply I should either go mad or I should divine a great deal.ā
āAnd thenāand then?ā said Aramis, impatiently.
āThen I leave off.ā
āYou leave off?ā
āYes; my head becomes confused and my ideas melancholy; I feel ennui overtaking me; I wishāā
āWhat?ā
āI donāt 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.ā
āYou are afraid of death?ā said Aramis, with a slight uneasiness.
āYes,ā said the young man, smiling.
Ara...