The man with the iron mask

by Marius Topin

Such are the embellishments with which time has adorned the story of the masked prisoner, and which, by transfiguring him, have rendered him unrecognizable. But, as has often been said to us, how is it that, reduced to his proper proportions, he has not been previously recognized in a definitive manner? How is it, too, since he has been the object of such long researches, that people have passed over so many despatches concerning him, without even reading them? To this we shall content ourselves with replying, that these despatches are in existence, that their authenticity cannot be contested, and that any one may take cognizance of them in the Archives of the Ministry of War or of Foreign Affairs. If they have remained unpublished to the present time, it is doubtless because they have escaped notice, containing, as they do, mere indications, and no proof revealing in a direct manner the identity of the Man with the Iron Mask. It is by bringing them together, and comparing them, that light is thrown upon them. Isolated they remain obscure; having no clearness of their own, they have not attracted attention, and have remained buried in the heaps of documents among which they are still to be found.

What objection yet remains to combat the result of this minute inquiry carefully conducted among innumerable materials? Is it the silence of Saint-Simon[639] in reference to this affair? But this very silence tends to prove that the masked prisoner was the victim of an intrigue concocted abroad. This immortal writer has, indeed, thrown light into the most secret and obscure recesses of Louis XIV.’s Court. None of its hidden wretchedness, none of its most secret intrigues, nothing concerning the interior of the Kingdom, has escaped this self-constituted observer. But, on the other hand, he was only acquainted with the foreign affairs of the end of the reign, when his friend, the Marquis de Torcy, had assumed the direction of them. He was as completely ignorant about all the others as he was well-informed concerning what passed within the Kingdom. His silence, therefore, which would be very strange, if the Man with the Iron Mask had belonged to a French family, is easily explained by the fact that this prisoner was arrested outside France, and in 1678.

Will it still be maintained that the slight importance of a minister of the Duke of Mantua is incompatible with the care that Dujonca[640] took to prepare the chamber in the Bastille for the Man with the Iron Mask, when in the curious manuscript notes[641] which we have found in the Archives of the Arsenal, Dujonca himself states, “That on the arrival of a prisoner, it is necessary to take care to have given and brought to him all that is essential for the furnishing of his chamber, paying very dearly for it to the Governor’s upholsterer, or else to the maîtresse d’autel?”

Is it still possible to draw an objection from the silence concerning Matthioly preserved in the despatches addressed by the Minister to Saint-Mars during the years 1680 to 1698,[642] now that we know that Matthioly, contrary to the opinion admitted up to the present time, had remained at Pignerol, and was only restored to Saint-Mars a few years before the latter’s departure for the Bastille?

People have often spoken of the severe treatment of which Matthioly was the object, and the harsh expressions used with reference to him by the Minister. But if there was indeed, for a long time, a certain harshness in Louvois’ language, the despatches of the Abbé d’Estrades explain it. This harshness was caused by the cruel disappointment experienced by the Minister, when, notwithstanding Matthioly’s promises, the original of the ratification of the treaty of Casale could not be found among his papers. Previously to this, Catinat had written to Louvois: “Monsieur de Saint-Mars treats the S. de Lestang[643] very kindly so far as regards cleanliness and food, but very strictly in preventing him holding intercourse with any one.”[644]

Later, especially after the execution of the treaty, the old grievances disappeared, and if an incessant surveillance was maintained, useless severity was dispensed with. Moreover, these harsh, coarse, and painful expressions were only too familiar to Louvois, and in some of his despatches he has scarcely shown himself milder with reference to Fouquet and De Lauzun.

Lastly, Voltaire declares that he had heard “from the Sieur Marsolan, the son-in-law of the apothecary of the Bastille, that the latter, a short time previous to the death of the masked prisoner, learnt from him that he believed himself to be about sixty years old.” Now Matthioly, born in 1640, was, in reality, sixty-three years of age when he died.

He died, and the registers of the Church of Saint-Paul[645] bear the name of Marchialy. The dissertations on this name have been as numerous as ingenious. Some persons—Father Griffet,[646] for instance—have discovered in it the letters forming the words hic amiral (Vermandois and Beaufort were Admirals of France), as if the employment of an anagram was probable under such circumstances! Others[647] have beheld in it the word mar, which in the Armenian tongue signifies Saint, and in the East would be applied to the patriarchs, and the word Kialy, the Armenian diminutive of Michael, which was Avedick’s Christian name. Is it not more simple and natural to regard this word as standing for Matthioly’s name itself, which in several despatches Louvois writes Marthioly?[648] No one can be ignorant of the negligence with which proper names were then spelt?[649] Here there is only one letter changed; how many examples do we not come across of much more important modifications? No one could have any suspicion of the date of Count Matthioly’s death. People were ignorant that Dujonca kept a journal, and it was only afterwards, that guided by its statements they thought of searching among the registers of the Church of Saint-Paul for the date of November 20, 1703, which he had assigned for the burial of the masked prisoner. But it must at least be admitted that at the time of this burial there was nothing which could serve to attract attention towards the registration of November 20. Moreover, all danger of his imparting any confidence, all fear of a revelation of an odious violation of international law, had disappeared with the possessor of Louis XIV.’s secret, with the victim of this violation. To inscribe his name upon the register of an obscure church, where no one had the means of seeking for it, was therefore natural, and presented no danger. Everything that was essential or indispensable had been done. The abduction was accomplished with the greatest mystery; Matthioly’s presence at Pignerol, and afterwards at the Islands, was known only to his gaoler; his name merely mentioned in despatches which might be presumed to be placed for ever beyond investigations, then this name disappearing in its turn, and every trace of the prisoner, as was believed, effaced by these means; his changes of prison taking place with extraordinary precautions; all this would have sufficed to have rendered any researches useless, and to have prevented the complete identification of Matthioly, if the archives at Versailles had remained impenetrable. Louis XIV.’s order was scrupulously executed, as will be seen from the despatch,[650] which it is now time to give, and in which the King of France caused to be accorded to the Abbé d’Estrades, the authorisation which he had solicited.

“Versailles, April 28, 1679.

“The King has seen in your letter the confidence that Madame la Duchesse de Savoye had imparted to you concerning Count Matthioly’s perfidy. It is rather strange that, feeling himself guilty to such a degree towards his Majesty, he dares to trust himself in your hands. So the King thinks that it is good that he should not do so with impunity. Since you believe you can get him carried off without the thing causing any scandal, his Majesty desires that you should execute the idea that you have, and that you should have him taken secretly to Pignerol. An order is sent there to receive him, and to have him kept there without any person knowing about it. It will depend upon your skill to arrange a meeting, in order to speak with him in an unfrequented spot, and if possible, in the country. But in any case, if it is true that he has had the ratification of the Duke of Mantua, and should have it in his possession, it would be good to take him and make sure of him. It is not necessary that you should inform Madame la Duchesse de Savoye of this order which his Majesty gives you, and NO ONE MUST KNOW WHAT HAS BECOME OF THIS MAN.”