CHAPTER XXII.
The Isles Sainte-Marguerite—Their Appearance—Their Past—Various Causes of their Celebrity—How I was led to suppose that Matthioly was not taken to Exiles by Saint-Mars—Documents which prove him to have been left at Pignerol—Obscurity of the two Prisoners transferred to Exiles by Saint-Mars—Neither of them could have been the Man with the Iron Mask—Removal of the Prisoners of Pignerol to the Isles Sainte-Marguerite.
On each side of Cannes, the coast of Provence, describing a slight curve, forms the two gulfs of Napoule and Jouan, separated by the Point of the Croisette.[564] Off this point, distant about a mile from shore, are two islands, situated one in front of the other like advanced sentinels, and affording each other mutual protection. The approach to them is rendered far from easy by the rocks and reefs with which nature has surrounded them. Both are oblong in shape, lying from east to west, and the one nearest to the shore is also much the larger. Owing to the great number of pines with which they are covered, the view from them is limited; but if we ascend one of the highest towers, we behold the most dazzling and wonderful of pictures. On every side is a marvellous profusion of light; just in front of us is Cannes, and its elegant villas, bathed by the waves of the sea; a little further inland lies the magnificent valley of Grasse, with its hills covered with olive-trees, its green mountain-slopes, and luxuriant vegetation;[565] on the left is the sharp and varied outline of the long chain of the Esterel; on the right, the Maritime Alps, almost touching the sky, with their snowy summits glittering in the sun; and in the background, a pile of savage mountains and gigantic rocks forms a striking contrast with this privileged spot, and provides for it at once both a sure shelter and a most picturesque framework.
These two islands, so appropriately situated for the embellishment of these peerless localities, have no share in the life or animation that surrounds them. As a rule, uncultivated, and inhabited solely by their garrison and a few fishermen’s families, intersected here and there by ancient salt-marshes, and of a sad and monotonous appearance, one would say that they belonged altogether to the past. On these tranquil coasts everything tends to meditation and to poetry. Day-dreams are natural and easy here, for there is nothing to disturb the grand recollections which the spot evokes, and in which history and legend have an equal share. The Romans have occupied these islets; pious hermits have established themselves on them; the Saracens have invaded and the Spaniards have pillaged them in turn.[566] In the early part of the fifth century, Saint-Honorat founded a monastery here, which was for a long time the most celebrated of Gaul, and in which thousands of apostles were trained in virtue and knowledge, of whom some became celebrated bishops, and very many martyrs.[567] Everywhere on this land of the past vestiges of ancient buildings[568] are to be perceived, and traces of savage devastation. Everywhere the uncertain and poetic recollections preserved by tradition are mingled with the unquestionable events of the history of France. Here, in the smaller of the two islands, is still to be seen the inexhaustible well that, according to the legend, Saint-Honorat caused to be dug, and from which fresh water miraculously issued forth on to a salt and arid shore till then deprived of it. Not a long while ago one used to be shown the place where the Saint, perched on a high tree, escaped the flood of waters he had called forth by his prayers, and which, on afterwards retiring, carried off with them the serpents with which the islands were infested. It was here also that Francis I. stopped when a prisoner of the Spaniards after the fatal battle of Pavia, and this was the last spot of French earth trodden by the unfortunate monarch before commencing his rigorous captivity. It was here also—a recollection at once sad and glorious—that Prince Eugène and the Duke of Savoy encountered the most obstinate resistance when they were invading the South of France, and were marching first upon Cannes and then upon Toulon by the road bordering the sea.[569] It was from here that the cannon-shots were fired which, by delaying the enemy’s march, gave time for Toulon to be defended; and after the raising of the siege, it was the attack from here that compelled the Germans and Piedmontese, on their return, to leave the sea-shore, and take refuge among the hills and mountains, where they fell under the multiplied blows of the energetic peasants of Provence.
Such are these two islands, sometimes designated under the common name of the Lerins, but better known under that of the Isles Sainte-Marguerite and Saint-Honorat, where the most varied remains abound, but which the residence of the Man with the Iron Mask has especially rendered for ever famous. Such are the spots which it is impossible to visit, pronounce the name of, or call to mind the recollection, without both the name and the recollection of the mysterious prisoner who was confined in the larger of the two islands—that of Sainte-Marguerite—immediately recurring also. Whether we follow the tradition which represents the masked man as being brought to Saint-Mars in this island,[570] or whether we think that he was conducted thither by Saint-Mars himself, it is undeniable that in 1698 the gaoler and his captive departed thence, for the purpose of undertaking that journey which was mysteriously pursued across France, exciting everywhere an inquisitive astonishment, having Villeneuve-le-Roi for its principal halting-place and the Bastille for termination. It is not less certain (and the unimpeachable journal[571] of Dujonca is evidence of this) that the individual conducted to Paris by Saint-Mars “in his litter, was an old prisoner whom he had at Pignerol.”
Who was this prisoner?
It is very certain that there nowhere exists a collection of documents specially relating to the Man with the Iron Mask. Louis XIV. had too great an interest in surrounding this individual with uncertainty and obscurity for him to have been pleased to collect and leave behind him sure proofs of his identity. This interest in concealing the existence of the captive became, as we shall see further on, very much greater at the time of his removal to the Bastille. So his real name disappeared almost entirely, and he was simply termed “the prisoner from Provence.” It is consequently necessary to go back long before the date of this removal, in order to establish his identity, and this can only be done by comparing a great number of despatches, no one of which furnishes of itself an unexceptionable proof, though their comparison and the logical deductions to be derived from them enable us to come to a sure conclusion. We must therefore request from our readers, especially at this stage of the argument, a close and sustained attention.
We have terminated the preceding chapter by stating that M. Jules Loiseleur has pronounced a decisive judgment on the question of the Man with the Iron Mask, and we defy any attentive reader to study his work without becoming convinced that the problem will never be solved. But M. Loiseleur has made his inquiry merely with reference to the documents as yet published. “His demonstrations, so clear, luminous, and peremptory,” a critic has observed, “have exhausted the question, and, in default of fresh documents, no profound mind will again recur to it.”[572] It is these fresh documents which I am about to introduce into the discussion, and I will proceed to state how I was led to suppose their existence, and afterwards how I became the first to establish it.
An unpublished despatch, addressed by Louvois to Saint-Mars, January 5, 1682, is thus conceived:—
“I have received your letter of the 28th of last month. You do not know what is advantageous for you, when you ask to exchange the governorship of Exiles for the command of the Château of Casale, which brings in only two thousand livres of salary. Consequently I do not advise you to think of it.”[573]