The man in the iron mask E-Book

Dumas Alexandre

• Herausgeber: Youcanprint
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

"Everything for one and for all!" In this concluding episode of the saga of the three Musketeers, the actions of Aramis and other musketeers - Athos, Porthos, and the most fascinating of all, D'Artagnan - bear honor or misfortune ... and one terrible punishment for the final loser in the real battle.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Chapter 1. The Prisoner

Chapter 2. How Mouston Had Become Fatter Without Giving Porthos Notice Thereof, And of The Troubles Which Consequently Befell That Worthy Gentleman

Chapter 3. Who Messire Jean Percerin Was

Chapter 4. The Patterns

Chapter 5. Where, Probably, Moliere Obtained His First Idea Of The Bourgeois Gentilhomme

Chapter 6. The Bee-Hive, The Bees, And The Honey

Chapter 7. Another Supper At The Bastile

Chapter 8. The General Of The Order

Chapter 9. The Tempter

Chapter 10. Crown and Tiara

Chapter 11. The Chateau De Vaux-Le-Vicomte

Chapter 12. The Wine of Melun

Chapter 13. Nectar And Ambrosia

Chapter 14. A Gascon, And A Gascon And A Half

Chapter 15. Colbert

Chapter 16. Jealousy

Chapter 17. High Treason

Chapter 18. A Night At The Bastile

Chapter 19. The Shadow Of M. Fouquet

Chapter 20. The Morning

Chapter 21. The King’s Friend

Chapter 22. Showing How The Countersign Was Respected At The Bastile

Chapter 23. The King’s Gratitude

Chapter 24. The False King

Chapter 25. In Which Porthos Thinks He Is Pursuing A Duchy

Chapter 27. Monsieur De Beaufort

Chapter 28. Preparations For Departure

Chapter 29. Planchet’s Inventory

Chapter 30. The Inventory of M. De Beaufort

Chapter 31. The Silver Dish

Chapter 32. Captive And Jailers

Chapter 33. Promises

Chapter 34. Among Women

Chapter 35. The Last Supper

Chapter 36. In M. Colbert’s Carriage

Chapter 37. The Two Lighters

Chapter 38. Friendly Advice

Chapter 39. How The King, Louis Xiv., Played His Little Part

Chapter 40: The White Horse And The Black

Chapter 41. In Which The Squirrel Falls, The Adder Flies

Chapter 42. Belle-Ile-En-Mer

Chapter 43. Explanations By Aramis

Chapter 44. Result Of The Ideas Of The King, And The Ideas Of D’artagnan

Chapter 45. The Ancestors Of Porthos

Chapter 46. The Son Of Biscarrat

Chapter 47. The Grotto Of Locmaria

Chapter 48. The Grotto

Chapter 49. An Homeric Song

Chapter 50: The Death Of A Titan

Chapter 51. Porthos’s Epitaph

Chapter 52. M. De Gesvres’s Round

Chapter 53. King Louis Xiv

Chapter 54. M. Fouquet’s Friends

Chapter 55. Porthos’s Will

Chapter 56. The Old Age Of Athos

Chapter 57. Athos’s Vision

Chapter 58. The Angel Of Death

Chapter 59. The Bulletin

Chapter 60. The Last Canto Of The Poem

Epilogue

Table of Contents

Chapter 1. The Prisoner

Chapter 2. How Mouston Had Become Fatter Without Giving Porthos Notice Thereof, And of The Troubles Which Consequently Befell That Worthy Gentleman

Chapter 3. Who Messire Jean Percerin Was

Chapter 4. The Patterns

Chapter 5. Where, Probably, Moliere Obtained His First Idea Of The Bourgeois Gentilhomme

Chapter 6. The Bee-Hive, The Bees, And The Honey

Chapter 7. Another Supper At The Bastile

Chapter 8. The General Of The Order

Chapter 9. The Tempter

Chapter 10. Crown and Tiara

Chapter 11. The Chateau De Vaux-Le-Vicomte

Chapter 12. The Wine of Melun

Chapter 13. Nectar And Ambrosia

Chapter 14. A Gascon, And A Gascon And A Half

Chapter 15. Colbert

Chapter 16. Jealousy

Chapter 17. High Treason

Chapter 18. A Night At The Bastile

Chapter 19. The Shadow Of M. Fouquet

Chapter 20. The Morning

Chapter 21. The King’s Friend

Chapter 22. Showing How The Countersign Was Respected At The Bastile

Chapter 23. The King’s Gratitude

Chapter 24. The False King

Chapter 25. In Which Porthos Thinks He Is Pursuing A Duchy

Chapter 27. Monsieur De Beaufort

Chapter 28. Preparations For Departure

Chapter 29. Planchet’s Inventory

Chapter 30. The Inventory of M. De Beaufort

Chapter 31. The Silver Dish

Chapter 32. Captive And Jailers

Chapter 33. Promises

Chapter 34. Among Women

Chapter 35. The Last Supper

Chapter 36. In M. Colbert’s Carriage

Chapter 37. The Two Lighters

Chapter 38. Friendly Advice

Chapter 39. How The King, Louis Xiv., Played His Little Part

Chapter 40: The White Horse And The Black

Chapter 41. In Which The Squirrel Falls, The Adder Flies

Chapter 42. Belle-Ile-En-Mer

Chapter 43. Explanations By Aramis

Chapter 44. Result Of The Ideas Of The King, And The Ideas Of D’artagnan

Chapter 45. The Ancestors Of Porthos

Chapter 46. The Son Of Biscarrat

Chapter 47. The Grotto Of Locmaria

Chapter 48. The Grotto

Chapter 49. An Homeric Song

Chapter 50: The Death Of A Titan

Chapter 51. Porthos’s Epitaph

Chapter 52. M. De Gesvres’s Round

Chapter 53. King Louis Xiv

Chapter 54. M. Fouquet’s Friends

Chapter 55. Porthos’s Will

Chapter 56. The Old Age Of Athos

Chapter 57. Athos’s Vision

Chapter 58. The Angel Of Death

Chapter 59. The Bulletin

Chapter 60. The Last Canto Of The Poem

Epilogue

THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK

BY

ALEXANDRE DUMAS

First digital edition 2018 by Maria Ruggieri

Chapter 1. The Prisoner

Since Aramis’s 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 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, “I am at your orders, monseigneur”. Aramis merely nodded his head, as much as to say, “Very good”; 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 jailer’s 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 Aramis’s 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 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 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 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 leathern 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 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. “What is it?” said he.

“You desired a confessor?” replied Aramis.

“Yes”.

“Because you were 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 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, “I am better”.

“And so?” said Aramis.

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

“Not even of the hair-cloth, 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 am listening”.

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 sinewy limbs of one-and-twenty chance to 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 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?”

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 is so necessary to life!”

“Well, monsieur,” returned the prisoner; “draw near to the window; it is open. Between high heaven and earth the wind whirls on its waft ages 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”. 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, which lights up the hangings of my bed and floods the very floor. This luminous square increases from ten o’clock 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”. Aramis wiped the drops from his brow. “As to the stars which are so delightful to view,” continued the young man, “they 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”.