“I also write to you concerning the proposal to exchange your governorship of the Isles Sainte-Marguerite against that of the Bastille. The reply which you have made to him has been handed to me since his death. The revenue of this governorship consists of 15,168 livres on the estates of the King, besides two thousand additional which M. Bezemaux derived from the shops around the Bastille and the ferry-boats depending on the governor.
“It is true that out of this M. Bezemaux was obliged to pay a number of sergeants and soldiers for the guard of the prisoners in his care, but you know, from what you derive from your company, to what these expenses amount. Having enumerated the value of this governorship, I shall now say to you that it is for you to know your own interests, that the King does not force you to accept it, if it is not agreeable to you, and at the same time I do not doubt that you will take account of the profit that is generally made upon what the King gives for the keep of the prisoners, which profit may become considerable. There is also the pleasure of being in Paris with one’s family and friends, instead of being confined to an extremity of the kingdom. If I may give my opinion, it seems to me very advantageous, and I believe, for the reasons given above, that you would not lose by the exchange. I beg you nevertheless to write me your opinion frankly concerning that:”—Archives of the Ministry of War.
[622] P. 164, ante.
[623] The Count de Pontchartrain to Saint-Mars, November 3, 1698: “The King approves of your prisoner from Provence confessing and communicating whenever you think proper.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
The Use of a Mask formerly very general—Frequently adopted for Prisoners in Italy—Its Employment not difficult in the Case of Matthioly—Origin of the Legend of the Man with the Iron Mask—As to the Transmission of the Secret from King to King—Louis XV. and Louis XVIII.—How it is that the Despatches which we have quoted have remained unpublished—Concerning the Silence of Saint-Simon—Dujonca—Taulès’ Objection—Louvois’ harsh Language—Matthioly’s Age—Concerning the Name of Marchialy—Order for Matthioly’s Arrest—Arrival of the Duke of Mantua in Paris—Conclusion.
But what about the mask? some one will say,—the mask, which is the characteristic feature of the mysterious prisoner, a feature more striking than all the others, because that whilst the latter are only known to those people who read, the former is recalled by the very name of the famous captive, which one cannot pronounce without picturing him to oneself with a mask covering his face? Need we say that the custom of wearing a mask was formerly very general among the great? Need we quote the example of Marie de Medicis, whom the exact Héroard[624] represents as going to see the young Louis XIII., “who kisses her beneath her mask?” Or the Duchess de Montpensier’s ladies of honour whom she authorised to cover their faces with masks of black velvet?[625] Or, again, the Maréchale de Clérambault, whom Saint-Simon[626] describes “as always wearing a mask of black velvet on the high road or in the galleries?” Need we recall Madame de Maintenon concealing her face under a mask,[627] when she comes seven different times to Versailles to seek the children just born of Madame de Montespan and Louis XIV., and to take them mysteriously to Paris in a fiacre. Or the wives of certain rich financiers who, in 1683, dared to wear a mask even in the churches,[628] and thus provoked a severe ordonnance from La Reynie, the Lieutenant of Police?
But if at this period we find very frequent examples of the use of a mask in the ordinary course of life, there is absolutely no authentic example of the wearing of a mask being enforced upon a prisoner, and such a measure is altogether peculiar to the famous captive. It has been concluded from this that the prisoner so exceptionally treated must have been of exceptional importance, and that there was some especial interest in concealing his countenance. But, if this were the case, why was he conducted to the Bastille, where a moment of forgetfulness might cause him to be recognized by one of his fellow-captives, and almost infallibly by one of the numerous officers of the fortress? Would it not have been as prudent as it was easy to have avoided this danger by leaving him at the Isles Sainte Marguerite? In order to explain the removal, it has been said that Louis XIV. desired to have the prisoner nearer himself. This is altogether wrong. We have just given[629] the despatches which preceded Saint-Mars’ departure for the Bastille. Do they contain an imperious order, unanswerable, and founded on reasons of State? Far from it. The Minister informs Saint-Mars that the governorship of the Bastille has just become vacant, and inquires if he is willing to accept it. Far from speaking to him of “his old prisoner” in this first despatch,[630] he touches only upon his private affairs, and the evident gain he would experience by accepting this very advantageous proposition; and it is only when Saint-Mars decides upon doing so that the Minister charges him to bring “his old prisoner” with him. If this “old prisoner” had possessed in his features any resemblance “revealing his origin,” he would not have been taken to Paris, or anyhow some mention would have been made of him in the first despatch in which the new duties are proposed to Saint-Mars.
In the case of an Italian like Matthioly, the use of the mask has a very natural explanation. Indeed, it is only in Italy that we meet with the custom of covering the face of a prisoner with a mask. Individuals arrested in Venice by order of the State inquisitors were taken masked to their dungeons. Moreover, we have seen Matthioly concealing himself with a mask in his secret interviews with the Abbé d’Estrades, Louis XIV.’s ambassador. This mask[631] the Minister of the Duke of Mantua and the companion of his pleasures used always to carry about with him. It would certainly have formed part of the clothes and effects seized near Turin in 1678, and which were sufficiently valuable for Louvois to authorise Saint-Mars to take them with him.[632] In 1698, as at the time of his arrest, Matthioly was always under the ban of that order of absolute secrecy contained in a despatch which we shall shortly give; and Saint-Mars, as we know, was as exact and as scrupulous in carrying out his instructions, whether they were twenty years old or quite recent. Moreover, in 1678 Matthioly had come to Paris, charged with an official mission. He remained there a month. Supposing, as is probable, that he ran no risk, after so long an absence, of being recognized by the French whom he had visited, there was no reason why the Residents of the Duke of Mantua and the other Italian Princes should not do so. Lastly, an unpublished letter of Saint-Mars[633] and several despatches of the Minister of Exterior Relations prove that there was then in the Bastille a Count Boselli, an Italian, in whose detention the Marshal de Tallard appears to have been interested, and who, on account of his different missions, had travelled throughout the whole of Italy, and had been brought into connection with many of the illustrious families of Mantua and Bologna. He had doubtless known Matthioly’s, and perhaps Matthioly himself. For all these reasons, therefore, it was necessary to preserve the absolute secrecy to which the latter had been condemned. Saint-Mars had the means at his disposal—a means exceptional and extraordinary, but still very familiar to Matthioly. His face was therefore covered with a mask, and if this peculiarity was so striking to the people at the Bastille, it was principally on account of the prisoner’s arriving there with the new governor, and because their attention was already excited by the expected arrival of Saint-Mars, preceded probably by a reputation for rigorous severity, and awaited, anyhow, with that impatience to meet a new chief which all subordinates display. It is this which has contributed to render so strong in Dujonca the impression of surprise which we meet with in his ingenuous journal. He has communicated this impression, thus received, to other officers of the Bastille. The mysterious memory of it is at first perpetuated within the walls of this formidable fortress. It would still have been talked about during the first half of the eighteenth century, when many men of letters were imprisoned there. These last have certainly heard the tale which, after its passage from one mouth to another, still contained a little of history and already much of legend. They have preserved profoundly engraven on their minds this story, so much more striking because it was told them on the very scene of the events, and, once liberated, they have spread it abroad amongst the public, and soon throughout the whole world. Imagination, vividly excited, has had free play. Various explanations have been proposed, supported, and contested. Great writers have taken part in this controversy, and have lent it the lustre of their talents. With the view of stimulating public curiosity, people have amused themselves with adding to it much that was extraordinary and marvellous, and thus the story of the Man with the Iron Mask has by degrees left the grave domain of history to enter altogether into the seductive regions of fiction.
Next, various episodes have been successively imagined and added as so many embellishments to the life of the romantic prisoner: such as—Louvois’ visit to the Isles Sainte-Marguerite; the silver dish thrown out of the window and recovered by a fisherman, luckily for himself, uneducated; and especially the transmission of the gloomy secret “from King to King, and to no other.”[634] Louvois, as we have already said,[635] never went to the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, and it was a Protestant clergyman who threw out of the window a tin dish, covered with a few lines of writing. As to the transmission of the secret, which thus became, to a certain extent, an attribute of royalty, nothing proves that this ever took place when it was possible, and it is indisputable that it has not always been so. No doubt Louis XIV., on his death-bed, had a private conversation with the Duke d’Orléans.[636] That after having conversed with him concerning grave affairs of State, he should have spoken to him of the only two abductions of foreigners committed during his reign—those of Avedick and Matthioly; that at this supreme hour this King, who did not at all regret the persecutions inflicted upon his own subjects, because, even at his last moment, he was artfully made to consider them necessary for religion; that this King, I say, should have understood, at such a time, that to carry off an Armenian Patriarch, and to cause a foreign Minister to disappear, were two extreme acts, and manifest violations of international law; and that, acting under this impression, he should have recounted them to his nephew, may be admitted. Afterwards, the question of the Man with the Iron Mask having been suddenly mooted, it is probable the Duke d’Orléans or Cardinal Fleury may have informed Louis XV. about it. All the replies of the latter, when questioned, tend to confirm the opinion we have just established, by the examination of the despatches and are perfectly applicable to Matthioly.[637] That Louis XV. may have transmitted the secret to his grandson is also possible, although there is nothing to establish the fact of his having done so. But how was Louis XVIII. in a position to have been acquainted with it, as he is said to have been? When, as Count de Provence, he quitted Paris, Louis XVI. did not foresee the catastrophe which was so near. Will it be said that in the depths of his prison, the unhappy King may have remembered the necessary transmission, and have therefore occupied himself with informing his brother? But then, also, Louis XVII. was still living. If, therefore, Louis XVIII. has, by means of skilfully obscured answers, given out that he, too, was in the secret, it was only that he might not seem to be deprived of a privilege which some persons still regarded as a prerogative of the Crown.