[XVIII]
FROM THE DIARY OF THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK
Pignerol, August 21, 1669.—Have at last, I think, attained my heart's desire. Arrived last night under the pseudonym of Eustache Danger. Found everything fairly satisfactory. That is to say, the King's promises to me with regard to the absolute solitude I crave have been carried out as far as was possible in the time. The prison is not finished, and this accounts for a fact which annoyed me not a little on my arrival. I found that the walls of my room were not of the thickness promised, so that, should any one be lodged next door to me, which Heaven forfend! he might have the bad taste to try and communicate with me by knocking on the wall. I wear a black velvet mask and the King solemnly promised me that if any officer were to dare to ask me who I was he would be instantly dismissed.
August 22, 1669.—So far so good. Saint Mars, the Governor of the Prison, is certainly doing his best. But last night, when he brought me my dinner, he forgot himself and said, "Bon Soir, Monsieur." If he does this again he will have to be removed. I did not come here to be bothered with conversation.
August 25.—I am enjoying myself immensely. The relief of waking up in the morning and of gradually becoming conscious that it will not be necessary—
(a) To dress in Court clothes.
(b) To go out hunting.
(c) To attend the King's lever, or still worse, his coucher.
(d) To play cards and lose.