The man with the iron mask

by Marius Topin

CHAPTER IV.

Third Hypothesis—Reconciliation of Louis XIII. and Anne of Austria—The Queen enceinte for the Fourth Time—Suspicions with which Royal Births have sometimes been received—Precautions adopted in France for the Purpose of avoiding these Suspicions—Story of Louis XIV.’s Birth—Impossibility of admitting the Birth of a Twin-brother—Richelieu’s Absence—Uselessness of abducting and concealing this pretended Twin-brother.

Seven years were to elapse before the realization of the wishes of the nation, which ardently desired a Dauphin, and was alarmed at the prospect of seeing the little-loved brother of Louis XIII. ascend the throne of France. Anne of Austria was enceinte anew, in January, 1638: not, as Voltaire has said, and as people have so frequently repeated after him, “in consequence of a reconciliation brought about by chance between the two spouses, who had lived separately for a long time.”[92] There was no longer any need either of a storm surprising Louis XIII., ready to set out for the chase, or the pressing entreaties of Mademoiselle de la Fayette, or the supplications of the Captain of his Guards, in order to induce the King to visit the Queen. Unquestionable documents[93] show that long before the month of December, 1637, Louis XIII. knew how to reconcile his duties as a husband with his ever-increasing passion for the chase, and that when this sport kept him away from the Louvre for too long a time, his habit was to send for the Queen. On September 5, 1638, the latter brought into the world a prince, who was afterwards Louis XIV. It is upon this day that the birth of the Man with the Iron Mask is fixed by those[94] who recognise in this personage not an adulterine son of Anne of Austria, but a legitimate twin-brother of Louis XIV., born some hours after him, and condemned, for his late arrival in the world, to a perpetual imprisonment.

There are few royal births that have not been the object of malevolent insinuations, and often of very plain accusations of criminal fraud. Such an event almost always destroys the right of some collateral heir, who has perhaps long coveted the crown. Sometimes even it ruins the projects of a whole party; and whilst it confirms the position of some, it suddenly throws down a hundred ambitions, and exposes those who are disappointed in their expectations to the temptation of gainsaying that which destroys their hopes. When, on June 21, 1688, Marie d’Este, second wife of James II., rendered him the father of a son,[95] William of Orange, then long married to the Princess Mary, the eldest daughter of the King of England, seeing his wife’s rights annihilated by this unexpected birth, refused to admit as real an event so fatal to him. He caused accusatory libels to be spread throughout Holland, and even in England,[96] in which it was represented that the Queen’s pregnancy was feigned, that the birth was imaginary, and that an unknown child, picked up at hazard, had been furtively introduced into the bed of its pretended mother.[97] Several English writers, and, at their head, the ardent Burnet, welcomed this opinion, and the scandal which they raised contributed, some months afterwards, to the success of the attempt made by William of Orange to seize on the throne at the very moment when he seemed to have been excluded from it for ever.

In France, doubts of this nature being rendered still more easy by the sceptical and fault-finding spirit of the nation, care has been taken at all times to avoid even a pretext for them, by infinite precautions and excellent customs. Not only had the birth of a prince the greatest personages of the State for obligatory witnesses, but the people themselves were also invited to be present at the advent to life of him whom a very old tradition happily designates as the Child of France. The doors were opened to the public, who penetrated freely into the royal dwelling at the solemn moment when the family of their rulers was perpetuated. They also entered there on certain occasions when the King allowed himself to be seen at table by his subjects. These two privileges were the only ones granted to them at that time, and, reasonably enough, they were not disposed to rest content with them for ever. The first, however, at least, offered the advantage of making them forget for an instant that they were nothing, and of associating them in some way with the greatest event connected with the reigning family. When Marie Antoinette gave birth to her first child, the concourse of people in her chamber was such that Louis XVI. broke a window to give air more quickly to the Queen, who was on the point of losing consciousness. From that day the people ceased to be admitted to the birth of the King’s children. But long before Louis XIV. came into the world, nothing was neglected that could give the greatest authenticity to this event, and the accurate Héroard[98] shows us the chamber of Marie de Medicis filled with spectators at the moment of the birth of Louis XIII.

It was the same at the birth of Louis XIV. The first signs of an approaching accouchement showed themselves on September 4, 1638, at eleven o’clock in the evening.[99] The next day, at five o’clock in the morning, Louis XIII., learning that the pains are increasing, visits the Queen, whom he does not quit till her delivery.[100] At six o’clock arrive successively at Saint-Germain, Gaston d’Orléans, so interested in watching the issue of an event which is, perhaps, to put him aside from the throne for ever; the Princess de Condé, Madame de Vendôme, the Chancellor, Madame de Lansac, the future governess of the royal child, and Mesdames de Senecey and de la Flotte, ladies of honour. Behind the canopy of the bed occupied by the Queen, is erected an altar, at which the Bishops of Lisieux, of Meaux, and of Beauvais, say mass in turns. Near the altar, and even in the adjoining room, press Mesdames de la Ville-aux-Clercs, de Liancourt, and de Mortemart; the Princess de Guéméné; the Duchesses de la Trémouille and de Bouillon; the Dukes de Vendôme, de Chevreuse, and de Montbazon; Messieurs de Souvré, de Liancourt, de Mortemart, de la Ville-aux-Clercs, de Brion, and de Chavigny: the Archbishop of Bourges; the Bishops of Metz, Châlons, Dardanie, and Mans; and, finally, an enormous crowd which invades the palace at an early hour, and soon completely fills it.[101] At eleven o’clock precisely Anne of Austria brings into the world a child, the sex of which the midwife at once causes to be verified by the princes of the royal family, and particularly by Gaston d’Orléans. This latter remains quite stunned at the sight, and cannot hide his vexation;[102] still the very visible signs of his discontent are almost unperceived in the general gladness, and amidst the noisy acclamations that arise on all sides. The joy of Louis XIII. is as lively as his melancholy and dreamy nature allows. He admires and makes those round him admire the shape of his son, who, from his birth, like his father at a similar moment, gives proofs of the extraordinary appetite[103] which characterizes his race. A short time after, in the very chamber of the Queen, and before the same spectators, the newly-born prince is baptized by the Bishop of Meaux, first almoner. Louis XIII. then sends the Sieur Duperré-Bailleul to Paris, charged with solemnly announcing the happy news[104] to the Corporation. But, borne by the joyous cry of the populace, the news has already traversed with surprising rapidity the distance which separates Saint-Germain from Paris, where it is known at noon. It excites a really sincere enthusiasm there, and the churches, for some months past filled by people who ask of heaven the birth of a Dauphin, at once resound with hymns of thanksgiving.

According to the romance of Soulavie a second son came into the world at eight o’clock in the evening, nine hours after the first, and, conformably to the advice of Richelieu, was hidden, brought up mysteriously, and then placed in confinement. Let us remark, in the first place, that the Cardinal de Richelieu, who is made to play such an important part at Saint-Germain on September 5, 1638, had been absent from that place since the end of July, and was then at Saint-Quentin, whence he only returned to Paris on October 2.[105] But do not let us stop at this first error. In cases of twins the presence of the second child is invariably denoted by signs impossible to be mistaken or passed over. Thus, even if the second birth did not at once follow the first, in which case it would have had for witnesses the whole of the persons assembled in the chamber, it would certainly have been anticipated, and an expectation such as this could not have been kept concealed from the crowd.[106]

But how can it be admitted that a fact of such importance was known to so many persons without any of them betraying the secret in a conversation which would have been eagerly seized upon by some contemporary writer, or in one of those memoirs which numerous great personages then delighted in leaving behind them? And yet they all preserve the most complete silence on this subject. Contemporaries have told us everything about the veritable actions as well as the imaginary acts of Anne of Austria. They have penetrated to the recesses of her private life, but nothing in their writings, not even the most indirect allusion, permits one to suspect such an important event.

Supposing, however, that, extraordinarily and contrariwise to what observation proves every day, this second birth took place nine hours after the first, and without having been previously announced by any revealing sign, and that the witnesses were very few in number and remarkably discreet, what interest had Louis XIII. in concealing this birth? Amongst the Romans, in France during the Middle Ages, as in modern times, the twin that first comes into the world has always been the eldest. Far, therefore, from being dismayed, as Soulavie relates,[107] at this second birth, Louis XIII. ought to have rejoiced at it, since it would have strengthened the direct line in his family.

There is nothing to disprove that a double birth may have been prophesied by the two shepherds. Popular imagination, lively excited by the universal desire for a Dauphin, and by the unexpected announcement of the Queen’s condition, welcomed a thousand superstitious predictions, that for some months served as food for conversation, and helped to soften the delay. But this is the sole incident which is not evidently false in the relation of Soulavie, which is refuted, for the rest, by the impossibility of hiding a second birth from the innumerable witnesses of the first, and by the absolute silence of contemporaries, as well as by the incontestable inutility of the removal and suppression of this younger brother of Louis XIV.