[Illustration: [_Facsimile of the entry in the Registers of the Church
 of Saint-Paul at Paris, recording the death of the Man with the Iron
                               Mask._]]




                                  THE

                        MAN WITH THE IRON MASK.

                            BY MARIUS TOPIN.

                         TRANSLATED AND EDITED

                          BY HENRY VIZETELLY,

                               AUTHOR OF
                  “THE STORY OF THE DIAMOND NECKLACE.”


            “No one must know what has become of this man.”

                         _Order of Louis XIV._


                                _LONDON:
               SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE.
                                 1870._




                         TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE.


M. Topin’s _L’Homme au Masque de Fer_, of which the present volume is a
translation, has met with considerable attention in France, on the part
both of historical students and the reading public; several editions of
it having been called for in the course of a few months.

That a work which professes to give an authentic account of this almost
legendary character, after having discussed in an exhaustive fashion
the various theories that have been broached during a century and a
quarter respecting his mysterious identity, should have been received
with so large an amount of favour, is not surprising, for the story
forms perhaps the most romantic episode of a reign more than ordinarily
rich in dramatic incidents. But the extent of M. Topin’s historical
knowledge, the painstaking nature of his researches, the subtlety of
his reasoning, the skill which he has displayed in the grouping of
his materials, combined with his life-like pictures of events far from
commonly familiar, not only render his work highly amusing reading,
but entitle it to take its place in the library, both as an historical
study which has resolved beyond all doubt a problem that had long
perplexed some of the acutest minds, and as a valuable contribution
towards the history of Europe during the latter part of the seventeenth
century.

During the progress of the translation M. Topin’s text has been
carefully revised, and a few errors have been corrected. Additional
notes, too, have been given whenever the subject-matter seemed to
require elucidation, or where individuals little known to English
readers make their appearance on the scene.

                                                                   H. V.

 _Paris, April, 1870._




                           AUTHOR’S PREFACE.


If this book had been intended merely to satisfy a vulgar and
commonplace curiosity, it would only have consisted of a few pages.
My aim has been a loftier one. I have endeavoured, while concerning
myself with the most famous and romantic of State-prisoners, to write
the history of the principal individuals in whom people have beheld the
Man with the Iron Mask. As regards some of these I have been compelled
to lay bare the private life of Louis XIII. and Anne of Austria, and in
order to refute the accusations with which the memory of this princess
has been sullied, I have not hesitated to touch upon certain delicate
points, and to follow her accusers on to the ground on which they have
carried the discussion. But I have imposed upon myself the obligation
of always respecting my readers, and of influencing their judgment
without offending their taste. I have traced the others throughout
their adventurous careers and agitated existences, and some of them
even through their captivity, spent, sometimes in the monotonous
inaction of solitude, sometimes with the resignation of the sage, or
animated more frequently still by daring attempts at flight which the
incessant vigilance of the most scrupulous of gaolers always foiled.
Thus there will be found grouped together in this work Louis XIII. and
Anne of Austria, the seductive Buckingham and the affecting Vermandois,
the versatile Monmouth and the adventurous Beaufort, Lauzun the rash,
and Fouquet, rendered admirable by his resignation and Christian
virtues, the unfortunate Matthioly, and Saint-Mars, whose memory, and
even existence, is inseparable from that of his prisoners.

The sole and firm ground-work of this book are the materials, for the
most part unpublished, to be found in our Archives. For the space of
two years I have been collecting them in the different depositories of
manuscripts; and at the Ministries as at the Archives of the Empire,
at the Imperial Library as well as at the Arsenal, at the Institute
as at the Hôtel de Ville, I have everywhere met with the most cordial
reception, the most unreserved liberality, and the most invaluable
courtesy. It is my duty, and at the same time my pleasure, to testify
my gratitude to MM. Camille Rousset, Gallet de Kulture, Margry, de
Beauchesne, Lacroix, Ravaisson, Sage, Aude, and Read. The treasures of
our Archives are not only rendered accessible by the goodwill of their
Keepers, but are also made easy of consultation by the order which
these gentlemen have introduced among the profusion of documents by
means of classifications as clear as they are ingenious.

I have given in the text the more important documents of which I
have made use, and in the notes those which are of less consequence,
whilst I have contented myself with indicating the collections where
those materials are to be found which are altogether of a secondary
character. By this means the reader will have a complete check upon
me. Without sacrificing anything of the strictest exactitude I have
endeavoured to introduce into my account the spirit and the action
proper to the individuals brought on to the scene, and, in a subject
at once legendary and historical, to represent the faithful drawing of
history under the seductive colouring of fiction.

                                             _Paris, November 8, 1869._




                               CONTENTS.


  INTRODUCTION.

                                                                   Page

  Arrival of the Man with the Iron Mask at the Bastille--His
  Death--General Reflections on this celebrated Prisoner--Motives
  which determined the present Writer to make fresh Researches
  concerning him--Plan and Object of the Work                          1


  CHAPTER I.

  Theory which supposes the Man with the Iron Mask to have
  been a Brother of Louis XIV.--Voltaire the first to support
  this Theory in his _Siècle de Louis XIV._, and in the _Dictionnaire
  Philosophique_--Certain Improbabilities in his Story--Account
  of the Man with the Iron Mask introduced by Soulavie
  into the _Mémoires Apocryphes du Maréchal de Richelieu_--The
  three different Hypotheses of the Theory which makes the Man
  with the Iron Mask a Brother of Louis XIV.                           9


  CHAPTER II.

  First Hypothesis--Portrait of Buckingham--Causes of his Visit
  to France--Ardour with which he was received--His Passion
  for Anne of Austria--Character of this Princess--Journey to
  Amiens--Scene in the Garden--The Remembrance that Anne
  of Austria preserved of it                                          20


  CHAPTER III.

  Second Hypothesis--First Feelings of Anne of Austria towards
  Louis XIII.--Joy which she experienced on arriving in France--First
  Impressions of Louis XIII.--His Aversion to Spain--His
  Dislike to Marriage--Austerity of his Manners--His
  persistent Coldness--Means adopted to induce him to consummate
  the Marriage--Political Position of Anne of Austria--Louis
  XIII. and Richelieu--Watch kept by the Minister over
  the Queen--The King’s Illness at Lyons                              31


  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                                                        50


  CHAPTER V.

  Motives which hinder one from admitting the Existence, the Arrest,
  and the Imprisonment of a mysterious Son of Anne of Austria--The
  Period at which he is said to have been handed over to
  Saint-Mars, according to the Authors of this Theory, cannot
  be reconciled with any of the Dates at which Prisoners were
  sent to this Gaoler--Other Considerations which formally
  oppose even the Probability of the Theory that makes the Man
  with the Iron Mask a Brother of Louis XIV.                          58


  CHAPTER VI.

  The Count de Vermandois--His Portrait--Mademoiselle de la Vallière,
  his Mother--Anecdote from the _Mémoires Secrets pour servir à
  l’Histoire de Perse_--Father Griffet adopts its Conclusions--Arguments
  that he advances--Motives which render certain of Mademoiselle de
  Montpensier’s Appreciations suspicious--Improbability
  of the Story in the _Mémoires de Perse_--Illness
  of the Count de Vermandois--Reality of his Death
  attested by the most authentic Despatches--Magnificence of
  his Obsequies--Pious Endowments at Arras                            65


  CHAPTER VII.

  Causes which render the Theory probable that makes Monmouth
  the Man with the Iron Mask--Political Position of Monmouth--His
  Portrait--He is persuaded to revolt against his Uncle
  James II.--He lands near Lyme Regis--His first Successes--Enthusiasm
  with which he is received--His premature
  Discouragement--His Defeat at Sedgemoor--His shameful
  Flight--He is captured and taken to London--Cowardly
  Terrors of the Prisoner--His Interview with James II.               85


  CHAPTER VIII.

  Bases on which Saint-Foix has founded his Theory--Disputes of
  Saint-Foix and Father Griffet--The Recollection of Monmouth
  becomes Legendary in England--Ballads announcing his
  Return--Indisputable Proofs of Monmouth’s Death in 1685--Interview
  of Monmouth with his Wife and Children--He
  is conducted to the Scaffold--His Firmness--The Last Words
  which he utters--Awkwardness of the Executioner                     92


  CHAPTER IX.

  François de Vendôme, Duke de Beaufort--His Portrait--His
  Conduct during the War of the Fronde--Unimportance of this
  Individual--Motives cited by Lagrange-Chancel in support
  of his Theory--Their Improbability--Reasons which determined
  the Search for Proofs that leave no doubt of Beaufort’s
  Death at Candia                                                    103


  CHAPTER X.

  Causes of the Expedition to Candia--Court Intrigue--Turenne and
  the Duke d’Albret--Preparations for the Expedition--Beaufort
  Commands it--Departure of the Fleet--Its Arrival before
  Candia--State of this Island--Description of the Place
  besieged--Last Council of War--Plan of Attack, which is
  fixed for the Middle of the Night of June 24, 1669--The First
  Movements are successful--Terrible Explosion of the Magazine
  of a Battery--Fearful Panic--Rout of the French--Re-embarkation
  of the Troops--Certainty of Beaufort’s Death                       113


  CHAPTER XI.

  General Considerations on the Abduction of the Armenian
  Patriarch Avedick--Despatch of the Marquis de Ferriol to
  Constantinople as Ambassador--Difficulties peculiar to this
  Post--Incautious Conduct of some of Ferriol’s Predecessors--Quiclet’s
  Adventures--Portrait of Ferriol--His Pretensions
  at Constantinople--His Eccentricity of Manner--His Behaviour
  in Religious Matters--The Armenian Church--Short
  Account of its History--Ardent Desire of the Catholic Missionaries
  to make Converts--Their Imprudence--Ferriol at
  first attempts to repair it--Obstinate Resistance of Father
  Braconnier, a Jesuit--Encroachments and Requirements of
  the Jesuits                                                        128


  CHAPTER XII.

  Avedick--His Origin--His Protector, the Grand Mufti, Feizoulah
  Effendi--The two Churches, schismatic and catholic, exist in
  perfect concord--Fall of Mustapha II.--Death of the Mufti--Avedick
  is deposed and imprisoned--The Armenians
  ransom him--Ferriol’s persistent Hatred--His stubborn Animosity
  against Avedick--He succeeds in getting him deposed
  a second Time--Avedick’s Abduction at Chio--He is imprisoned
  on board a French Vessel--Incidents of the Voyage--Avedick
  endeavours to give Tidings of his Fate to the World--Insuccess
  of his Attempt--His Arrival at Marseilles                          147


  CHAPTER XIII.

  The Chevalier de Taulès--How he was led to believe that Avedick
  was the Man with the Iron Mask--A clear Proof furnished
  him of the impossibility of his Theory--Taulès persists and
  accuses the Jesuit Fathers of Forgery--Examination of
  Dujonca’s Journal--Its complete Authenticity and the unaffected
  Sincerity of the Writer cannot be doubted--New
  Proofs of this Authenticity and of Dujonca’s Exactitude            158


  CHAPTER XIV.

  Avedick is at first confined in the Prisons of the Arsenal--From
  Marseilles he is conducted to Mount Saint-Michel--Description
  of Mount Saint-Michel--Treatment to which Avedick is exposed--His
  useless Protestations against this Abuse of Force--Universal
  Emotion excited throughout the East--Complaints
  of the Divan--Ferriol’s Impudence--Terrible Reprisals
  practised on the Catholics--False Avedicks--Expedients to
  which Ferriol is reduced--Inquietude of the Roman Court--Duplicity
  of Louis XIV.’s Government--Avedick is transferred
  to the Bastille--Suggestions of which he is the Object--He
  abjures, and is set at Liberty--He dies at Paris in the Rue
  Férou--Delusive Document drawn up with Reference to this
  Death--Share of Responsibility which attaches to each of the
  Authors of the Abduction                                           171


  CHAPTER XV.

  Description of Pignerol--Its Past, its Situation--Portrait of
  Saint-Mars--His Scruples and his Integrity--Fouquet’s Arrival at
  Pignerol--Brief Account of the Surintendant’s Career--His
  Error with regard to Louis XIV., whom he betrays--Causes
  of Fouquet’s Fall--His Arrest--His Trial--His Condemnation--No
  kind of Obscurity in this Affair                                   189


  CHAPTER XVI.

  Remark of Fouquet’s Mother--The Prisoner’s Piety--Danger which he
  escapes at Pignerol--Incessant Supervision over him at La Pérouse,
  near Pignerol--Excessive Scruples of Saint-Mars--Precautions
  prescribed by Louvois--Espionage exercised
  over Fouquet by his Servants and his Confessor--Illnesses of
  the Prisoner--He devotes himself entirely to Study and to
  religious Meditations--Works to which he gives himself up--His
  new Motto--Interest which he continues to take in all his
  Relations and in Louis XIV.--Saint-Mars’ laconic Answers           208


  CHAPTER XVII.

  Sudden and singular Arrival of Lauzun in Fouquet’s Room--The
  latter had known him formerly under the Name of the Marquis
  de Puyguilhem--Lauzun enumerates his Dignities and calls
  himself the King’s Cousin--Fouquet believes his Visitor mad--Portrait
  of Lauzun--His Adventures--His Arrival at
  Pignerol--He continues his Visits to Fouquet--The Stories
  he tells him--Noble Conduct of Louis XIV. towards Lauzun--Audacious
  Method employed by the latter to overhear a Conversation
  between Louis XIV. and Madame de Montespan--Difference
  between the Conduct of Lauzun and that of Fouquet--Lauzun’s
  Outbursts against Saint-Mars--Perplexity of the latter--Singular
  Mode of Surveillance to which he has recourse--Progressive
  amelioration of the Lot of the two Prisoners--They
  receive Permission to see each other--Arrival of
  Fouquet’s Daughter at Pignerol--Misunderstanding between
  Fouquet and Lauzun--Cause of this Misunderstanding                 219


  CHAPTER XVIII.

  Theory which makes Fouquet the Man with the Iron Mask--Arguments
  advanced by M. Lacroix--Some to be absolutely
  rejected and some discussed--Fouquet not in possession of a
  dangerous State Secret--Madame de Maintenon--Her Character--Her
  Youth--Her Relations with Monsieur and Madame
  Fouquet--Her honourable Reserve--The Affair of the Poisons--How
  Fouquet’s Name became mixed up in it--Probability
  of his Death being caused by an Attack of Apoplexy--Weakness
  of the other Arguments advanced by M. Lacroix--Oblivion
  into which the Surintendant had fallen--Two
  mysterious Arrests                                                 232


  CHAPTER XIX.

  Intervention of the Kings of France in Italy--Policy of Henri II.,
  Henri IV., and Louis XIII.--Judicious Conduct of Richelieu--Treaty
  of Cherasco--Menacing Ambition of Louis XIV.--Situation
  of the Court of Savoy on the Death of Charles-Emmanuel--Portrait
  of Charles IV., Duke of Mantua--The
  Marquisate of Montferrat and Casale--The Count Matthioly--His
  political Career--His Character--The Abbé d’Estrades
  and Giuliani--Proposal to cede Casale to Louis XIV.--Interview
  at Venice between Charles IV. and the Abbé d’Estrades--Journey
  of Matthioly to Versailles--He communicates the
  Project formed to the Enemies of France--How is his Conduct
  to be estimated?                                                   251


  CHAPTER XX.

  The Regent of Savoy’s Perplexity--She discloses Matthioly’s Conduct
  to Louis XIV.--Arrival of Catinat at Pignerol--Arrest of
  the Baron d’Asfeld and his Imprisonment at Milan--The Abbé
  d’Estrades the first to conceive the Project of Matthioly’s
  Abduction--Despatches of the Abbé d’Estrades detailing the
  Abduction and the Incarceration of Matthioly--Means adopted
  in order to recover the official Documents connected with the
  Negotiation--Mystery surrounding Matthioly’s Disappearance--His
  family dispersed, and remaining silent and powerless               267


  CHAPTER XXI.

  Period from which the Theory that makes Matthioly the Man with
  the Iron Mask dates--Numerous Writers who have concerned
  themselves with the Abduction of this Individual--Arguments
  of Reth, Roux-Fazillac, and Delort--M. Jules Loiseleur--His
  Labours--The Supposition that an obscure Spy was
  arrested in 1681 by Catinat--It cannot be admitted--Grounds
  on which M. Loiseleur rejects the Theory that makes Matthioly
  the Man with the Iron Mask--Soundness of his Reasoning
  and Justness of his Conclusions                                    293


  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                                            313


  CHAPTER XXIII.

  Behaviour of Charles IV., Duke of Mantua, towards his ex-Minister--His
  true Sentiments with reference to him--Precautions prescribed to
  Villebois and Lagrade for the Prisoners left by Saint-Mars at
  Pignerol--Change in Louis XIV.’s Position in Italy--Transfer of the
  Pignerol Prisoners to the Isles Sainte-Marguerite--Instructions
  given to Marshal de Tessé--Increase
  of Saint-Mars’ Watchfulness--Mystery surrounding the three
  Prisoners--Great Importance of one of them compared with the
  others--It is he who was the Man with the Iron Mask                332


  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                                                  350




                                  THE

                        MAN WITH THE IRON MASK.




                             INTRODUCTION.

 Arrival of the Man with the Iron Mask at the Bastille--His
 Death--General Reflections on this celebrated Prisoner--Motives which
 determined the present Writer to make fresh Researches concerning
 him--Plan and Object of the Work.


About three o’clock in the afternoon of September 18, 1698, the Sieur
de Saint-Mars, coming from the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, made his entry
into the château of the Bastille, of which fortress he had just been
appointed governor. Accompanying him, and borne along in his litter,
was a prisoner, whose face was covered with a black velvet mask, and
of whom Saint-Mars, with an escort of several mounted men-at-arms, had
been the inseparable and vigilant gaoler, throughout the long journey
from Provence. Saint-Mars had halted at Palteau, an estate situated
between Joigny and Villeneuve-le-Roi, which belonged to him, and for a
long time the old inhabitants of Villeneuve used to recall having seen
the mysterious litter traversing in the evening the principal street of
their town. The remembrance of this apparition has been perpetuated
in the district, and the singular incidents characterizing it, related
by the former to each new generation, have been handed down to our own
days. The care taken by Saint-Mars at meal-times to keep his prisoner
with his back to the windows, the pistols which were always to be seen
within reach, of the suspicious gaoler, the two beds which he caused to
be placed side by side, so many precautions, so much mystery, excited
the lively curiosity of the assembled peasants, and formed an incessant
subject of conversation among them. At the Bastille, the prisoner was
placed in the third room south of the Tower of La Bertaudière, prepared
for him by the turnkey Dujonca, who, some days previous to his arrival,
had received a written order to that effect from Saint-Mars.[1]

Five years afterwards, on Tuesday, November 20, 1703, at four o’clock
in the afternoon, the drawbridge of the formidable fortress was lowered
and gave passage to a sad and mournful train. A few men, bearing a dead
body, having for sole escort two subordinate employés of the Bastille,
silently issued forth and directed their steps towards the cemetery
of the Church of Saint-Paul. Nothing could be more thrilling than the
sight of this group gliding along furtively under shadow of the falling
night. Nothing could be more utterly abandoned, and, in appearance,
more obscure, than these unknown remains followed by two strangers,
in a hurry to fulfil their task. Around the grave as, the evening
before, around the bed of the dying man, there were no signs of sorrow
or of regret. The prisoner of Provence had fallen ill on the Sunday.
His illness having suddenly increased during the following day, the
chaplain of the Bastille had been sent for; too late, however, to allow
him time to go in quest of the last sacraments, yet still sufficiently
early to enable him to address some rapid and common-place exhortations
to the dying man. On the register of the Church of Saint-Paul he was
inscribed under the name of Marchialy. At the Bastille he had always
been known as the Prisoner of Provence.[2]

Such is the mysterious personage who, unknown and abandoned to the
obscurity of a prison during the latter part of his existence, became,
a few years after his death, celebrated throughout the entire world,
and the romantic and piquant remembrance of whom has, for more than a
century, charmed the imagination of all, attracted universal attention,
and exercised uselessly the patience and sagacity of so many minds.
Become the hero of the most famous of legends, he has had the rare
privilege of everywhere exciting the curiosity of the public, without
ever either wearying or satiating it. At all epochs and among all
classes, in England, Germany, Italy, as well as France, in our own
days, as in the time of Voltaire, people have manifested the utmost
anxiety to penetrate the secret of this long imprisonment. Napoleon
I. greatly regretted not being able to satisfy this desire.[3] Louis
Philippe, too, discussed this problem, the solution of which he
acknowledged himself ignorant of;[4] and, if other sovereigns[5] have
pretended they were acquainted with it, their contradictory statements
lead us to believe that they were no better informed, but that in their
eyes the knowledge and transmission of the dark secret ought to be
counted among the prerogatives of the crown.

In the long list of writers whom the Man with the Iron Mask, the sphinx
of our history, has attracted and tempted, are many illustrious names,
as well as some less known now-a-days. During thirty years, Voltaire,
Fréron, Saint-Foix, Lagrange-Chancel, and Father Griffet took part in
a brilliant joust, in which each of the adversaries succeeded a great
deal better in overthrowing his opponent’s opinions than in securing
the triumph of his own.

Many times, and in our own days even, has the debate been resumed,
then momentarily abandoned, then recommenced again. Far and near new
theories have been broached, invariably supported by vague and weak
proofs, and soon overthrown by strong and valid objections. Fifty-two
writers[6] have by turns endeavoured to throw light upon this
question, but without success; and it can be affirmed that a century of
controversy and of exertion has not yet dissipated the mysterious gloom
in which Saint-Mars’ celebrated prisoner is enveloped.

So many successive checks, by still further stimulating curiosity,
have caused it to be believed that it was impossible to arrive at an
incontestable and definitive result. Every new explanation having been
victoriously repelled almost as soon as started, people have despaired
of ever attaining the truth, and some have even gone so far as to
proclaim it as being beyond human reach. “The story of the Iron Mask,”
says M. Michelet,[7] “will probably for ever remain obscure,” “The Man
with the Iron Mask will very likely always be an insoluble problem,”
has been said elsewhere;[8] and M. Henri Martin declares that “history
has not the right of pronouncing an opinion on what will never emerge
from the domain of conjecture.”[9]

If different methods of procedure had been adopted by the numerous
writers who have attempted the solution of this problem, I should not
have had the temerity to have added to their number; but an attentive
study of their writings shows that they have all taken the same
point of departure, and that they have all given themselves up to
a single idea. All have kept fixed in their minds this observation
of Voltaire’s:--“What redoubles one’s astonishment is, that at the
time when this prisoner was sent to the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, no
important personage had disappeared from Europe.”[10]

All have asked themselves if there really did not disappear from Europe
some important personage, and they have immediately set themselves
to discover some person of consideration, no matter who, that had
disappeared during the period extending from 1662 to 1703. When by
the aid of the very faintest resemblance they have fancied they have
found their hero, they have forthwith adapted the mask of black velvet
to him, and have seen in him the famous dead of November 20, 1703.
Erecting their conjecture into a theory, they have become ardent
propagators of it, and have adopted all that told in its favour with
the same readiness with which they have energetically denied all that
happened to be opposed to it. When the list of missing illustrious men
belonging to this period was exhausted, certain writers, sooner than
renounce seeing the Man with the Iron Mask in some person still alive
in 1706, have had no other expedient than to delay for several years
the death of Saint-Mars’ prisoner, in order not to abandon so dear a
discovery.[11]

But many of these ingenious and inventive writers acted in good faith.
Not perceiving the defects in their pleading, they only considered its
feeblest parts, and in default of making a great number of converts,
they invariably ended, as is easy enough, by convincing themselves.

Persuaded of the unsatisfactory nature of a method of procedure which
had always produced such ephemeral results, I have thought that,
extraordinary means having proved so inefficacious, more simple ones
might perhaps lead to a new solution, (yet one hardly dared hope for
it, when twenty-five hypotheses had already been put forward)--to a
solution at once decisive, to an absolute conviction, to the certainty
of not having to apprehend from the reader either doubt or objection.
Commencing the study of this question without any fixed opinion,
and with the firm resolution of seeking only the truth, I set about
collecting from the whole of our archives authentic despatches relating
to the State prisoners under Louis XIV. from the year 1660 to 1710.
Without pre-occupying myself with the Ministers who signed them, or
the prisoners whom they concerned; without limiting my researches to
Saint-Mars, Pignerol, the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, or the Bastille,
I arranged these despatches, of which more than three hundred are
unpublished, in order of their dates. They then lent a material
assistance; some explained others, and from this long and minute
inquiry, slowly pursued through heaps of documents, has resulted, I
hope, a definitive solution.

It was expedient this solution should be obtained.[12] In this
century, when the historian’s resources are increased by the progress
in certain sciences, by so many spectacles offered as an instruction to
his fruitful meditations, by a more complete knowledge of institutions
and facts, by the facility afforded of penetrating into collections
which it had been believed would remain for ever inaccessible to
investigators--in this century, which is literally the century of
history, it behoved us not to leave in our annals, without solving
it, a problem which had so frequently attracted the attention of
foreigners. It is this which determined me to undertake a task which
some may consider more curious than important. But to the interest
peculiar to this subject has to be added that which is attached to
the principal persons in whom by turns people have seen the prisoner
of Saint-Mars. Before bringing on the scene the true Man with the
Iron Mask, I shall examine rapidly, and with the aid of unpublished
documents, the illustrious usurpers of this romantic title, so that
this work may serve, not only to satisfy a trivial curiosity, but also
to throw a new light upon some of the most singular points of the inner
history of our country.


FOOTNOTES:

[1] _Estat de Prisonnies qui sont envoies par l’Ordre du Roy à la
Bastille, à commenser du mescredy honsiesme du mois d’Octobre que
je suis entré en possession de la charge de Lieutenant du Roy, en
l’année 1690_, by Dujonca, fol. 37, verso:--Archives of the Arsenal.
Letter from Barbézieux, Minister of War, to Saint-Mars, dated July
19, 1698:--“You can write in advance to His Majesty’s lieutenant of
this château to have a chamber ready to receive this prisoner on your
arrival.”--Unpublished despatch from the Archives of the Ministry
of War. Traditions collected at Villeneuve-le-Roi. Registers of the
Secretary’s Office of the King’s Household.

[2] _Estat de Prisonnies qui sortet de la Bastille à commenser de
honsiesme du mois d’Octobre que je suis entré en possession, en l’année
1690_, by Dujonca, fol. 80, verso:--Archives of the Arsenal. _Registre
des Baptêmes, Mariages, et Sépultures de la Paroisse de Saint-Paul_, s.
1703-1705, vol. ii. No. 166:--Archives of the Hôtel de Ville. Registers
of the Secretary’s Office of the King’s Household. Imperial Archives.

[3] _Souvenirs de la Duchesse d’Abrantès_, recueillis par M. Paul
Lacroix (Bibliophile Jacob).

[4] I am indebted for this information to the kindness of M. Guizot.

[5] Especially Louis XVIII., whose language is in complete disaccord
with that of Louis XV. But I shall refer to this point of debate
hereafter.

[6] Voltaire, Prosper Marchand, Baron de Crunyngen, Armand de la
Chapelle, Chevalier de Mouhy, Duke de Nivernais, La Beaumelle,
Lenglet-Dufresnoy, Lagrange-Chancel, Fréron, Saint-Foix, Father
Griffet, Hume, De Palteau, Sandraz de Courtilz, Constantin de
Renneville, Baron d’Heiss, Sénac de Meilhan, De la Borde, Soulavie,
Linguet, Marquis de Luchet, Anquetil, Father Papon, Malesherbes,
Dulaure, Chevalier de Taulès, Chevalier de Cubières, Carra, Louis
Dutens, Abbé Barthélemy, Quintin Craufurd, De Saint Mihiel, Bouche,
Champfort, Millin, Spittler, Roux-Fazillac, Regnault-Warin, Weiss,
Delort, George Agar Ellis, Gibbon, Auguste Billiard, Dufay, Bibliophile
Jacob, Paul Lecointre, Letoumeur, Jules Loiseleur, De Bellecombe,
Mérimée, Sardou; without counting the writers of general history, such
as S. Sismondi, Henri Martin, Michelet, Camille Rousset, Depping, and
all who have written articles on this question in cyclopædias.

[7] _Histoire de France_, vol. xii. p. 435.

[8] _Art de Vérifier les Dates_, vol. vi. p. 292.

[9] _Histoire de France_, vol. xiv. p. 564.

[10] Voltaire, _Siècle de Louis XIV._, p. 289.

[11] M. de Taulès, for instance, a partisan of the theory which makes
Avedick, the patriarch of Constantinople, the Man with the Iron Mask,
and to which I shall refer in the after-part of this book.

[12] About a year ago (_Moniteur_ of September 30, 1868) _àpropos_
of the fine collection of unpublished documents given to the world
by M. Ravaisson, under the title of _Archives de la Bastille_, M. de
Lescure expressed a wish to see this question definitively settled. I
had been occupying myself with it for a considerable period, though
not without having satisfied myself that the learned conservator of
the Arsenal Archives contemplated no work on the Man with the Iron
Mask, in continuation of his publication, not yet brought down to the
epoch of the entry into the Bastille of this famous prisoner. Among
contemporary authors, besides M. Paul Lacroix (Bibliophile Jacob), who
in 1840 supported the theory that made Fouquet the celebrated prisoner,
M. Jules Loiseleur, in the _Revue Contemporaine_ of July 31, 1867, and
M. de Bellecombe, in the _Investigateur_ of May, 1868, have maintained,
as the result of their labours, that the Man with the Iron Mask was
an unknown and obscure spy, whose name would never be ascertained. We
shall recur to the two studies of MM. Lacroix and Loiseleur, of which
one is very ingenious, and the other exhibits a penetrating sagacity,
while both display a varied and trustworthy erudition.




                              CHAPTER I.

 Theory which supposes the Man with the Iron Mask to have been
 a Brother of Louis XIV.--Voltaire the first to support this
 Theory in his _Siècle de Louis XIV._, and in the _Dictionnaire
 Philosophique_--Certain Improbabilities in his Story--Account of the
 Man with the Iron Mask introduced by Soulavie into the _Mémoires
 Apocryphes du Maréchal de Richelieu_--The three different Hypotheses
 of the Theory which makes the Man with the Iron Mask a Brother of
 Louis XIV.


Among the numerous theories which attempt to explain the existence of
the Man with the Iron Mask,[13] some have been imagined so carelessly,
conceived with so much haste, and supported in so loose a manner, that
they are not worthy of a serious examination, and simply to mention
them will suffice to do them justice. But there are others, due to an
ingenious inspiration, and sustained with incontestable talent, which,
without being true, have at least many appearances of being so. Among
others, the most devoid of proofs, but also the most romantic, is that
which makes the Man with the Iron Mask a brother of Louis XIV. “There
are many things which everybody says because they have been said once,”
remarks Montesquieu.[14] This is especially true of things which border
on the extraordinary and the marvellous. So, there are few persons who,
on hearing the Man with the Iron Mask mentioned, do not immediately
evoke a brother of Louis XIV. Whether the result of an intrigue between
Anne of Austria and the Duke of Buckingham,[15] or a legitimate son
of Louis XIII. and twin brother of Louis XIV., matters little to
popular imagination. These are but different branches of a system which
is profoundly engrafted in the public mind, and which it will not be
unprofitable to overthrow separately, since it has still innumerable
partisans, and touches upon the rights, moreover, the Bourbons have had
to the throne of France.

By whom was this widely-spread opinion first put forward? And by whom
has it been revived in our own days? What proofs, or, at least, what
probabilities are invoked in its support? On what recollections, on
what writings, is such a supposition based? Does it agree with official
documents? Is it in accord with the character of Anne of Austria or
with that of Louis XIII.? Is it founded on reason?

First Voltaire,[16] in his _Siècle de Louis XIV._, published in 1751,
wrote the following lines, destined to excite a lively attention
and to start a theory which he only completed in his _Dictionnaire
Philosophique_:--

“Some months after the death of Mazarin,” he says, “an event occurred
which has no parallel, and what is no less strange, all the historians
have ignored it. There was sent with the greatest secresy to the
château of the Isle Sainte-Marguerite, in the Sea of Provence, an
unknown prisoner, above the average height, and of a most handsome and
noble countenance. This prisoner, on the journey, wore a mask, the
chin-piece of which was furnished with steel springs, which left him
free to eat with the mask covering his face. Orders had been given
to kill him if he should remove it. He remained in the island till a
confidential officer, named Saint-Mars, governor of Pignerol, having
been appointed governor of the Bastille in 1690, went to fetch him in
the Isle Sainte-Marguerite and conducted him to the Bastille, always
masked. The Marquis de Louvois went to see him in this island before
his removal, and spoke to him standing, and with a consideration which
betokened respect. This unknown individual was taken to the Bastille,
where he was lodged as well as he could be in the château. Nothing
that he asked for was refused him. His greatest liking was for linen
of an extraordinary fineness and for lace; he played on the guitar. He
had the very best of everything, and the governor rarely sat down in
his presence. An old doctor of the Bastille, who had often attended
this singular man in his illnesses, has stated that he never saw his
face, although he had examined his tongue and the rest of his body. He
was admirably made, said this doctor; his skin was rather brown: he
interested one by the mere tone of his voice, never complaining of his
state, and not letting it be understood who he could be. This stranger
died in 1703, and was interred during the night in the parish church
of Saint-Paul. What redoubles one’s astonishment is that at the period
when he was sent to the Isle Sainte-Marguerite, there had disappeared
from Europe no important personage. This prisoner was without doubt
one, since this is what occurred shortly after his arrival in the
island:--The governor himself used to place the dishes on the table,
and then to withdraw after having locked him in. One day, the prisoner
wrote with a knife on a silver plate, and threw the plate out of the
window towards a boat which was on the shore, almost at the foot of the
tower. A fisherman, to whom the boat belonged, picked up the plate and
carried it to the governor. He, astonished, asked the fisherman: ‘Have
you read what is written on this plate, and has any one seen it in your
possession?’ ‘I do not know how to read,’ answered the fisherman; ‘I
have just found it, and nobody has seen it.’ The peasant was detained
until the governor had ascertained that he could not read, and that the
plate had been seen by nobody. ‘Go,’ he then said to him, ‘you are very
lucky not to know how to read!’”[17]

The following is the explanation by which, in his _Dictionnaire
Philosophique_, Voltaire, under his editor’s name, afterwards completed
this first story: “The Man with the Iron Mask was doubtless a brother,
and an elder brother of Louis XIV., whose mother had that taste for
fine linen on which M. de Voltaire relies. It was from reading the
_Mémoires_ of the period which relate this anecdote concerning the
Queen, that, recollecting this very taste of the Man with the Iron
Mask, I no longer doubted that he was her son, of which all the other
circumstances had already convinced me. It is known that Louis XIII.
had not lived with the Queen for a considerable time, and that the
birth of Louis XIV. was only due to a lucky chance.” Voltaire proceeds
to relate that previous to the birth of Louis XIV., Anne of Austria
had been delivered of a son of whom Louis XIII. was not the father,
and that she had confided the secret of his birth to Richelieu:
he then goes on to say,--“But the Queen and the Cardinal, equally
penetrated with the necessity of hiding the existence of the Man with
the Iron Mask from Louis XIII., had him brought up in secresy. This
was unknown to Louis XIV. until the death of the Cardinal de Mazarin.
But this monarch, learning then that he had a brother, and an elder
brother, whom his mother could not disavow, who, moreover, perhaps had
characteristic features which betokened his origin, and reflecting
that this child, born during marriage, could not, without great
inconvenience and a horrible scandal, be declared illegitimate after
Louis XIII.’s death, may have considered that he could not make use of
wiser and better means to assure his own security and the tranquillity
of the State than those which he employed, means which dispensed with
his committing a cruelty which policy would have represented as being
necessary to a monarch less conscientious and less magnanimous than
Louis XIV.”[18]

What improbabilities, what contradictions, what errors accumulated
in a few pages! This unknown, whom no one, not even his doctor, has
ever seen unmasked, has his face described as “handsome and noble;”
Saint-Mars, named governor of the Bastille in 1690, and traversing
the whole of France in order to fetch a prisoner, for whom during
eight-and-twenty years another gaoler had sufficed; this mask with
steel springs covering day and night the face of the unknown without
affecting his health; this resignation which prevented his complaining
of his position and which did not allow him to give any one a
glimmering as to who he was, and this eagerness to throw out of his
window silver plates on which he had written his name; this peculiar
taste for fine linen, which Anne of Austria also possessed, and which
revealed his origin; this haste on her part to confess her adultery to
her enemy, the Cardinal de Richelieu; the Queen of France making only
the Prime Minister the confidant of her confinement; and these two
events, the birth and the abduction of a royal child, so well concealed
that no contemporary memoir makes mention of them: such are the
reflections which immediately suggest themselves on reading this story.

No less improbable, and more romantic still, is the fictitious account
given by the governor himself of the Man with the Iron Mask, and which
Soulavie has introduced into the apocryphal memoirs of the Marshal
de Richelieu.[19] “The unfortunate prince whom I have brought up and
guarded to the end of my days,” says the governor,[20] “was born 5th
September, 1638, at half-past eight in the evening, while the King was
at supper. His brother, now reigning (Louis XIV.), was born at twelve
in the morning, during his father’s dinner. But while the birth of
the King was splendid and brilliant, that of his brother was sad and
carefully concealed. Louis XIII. was warned by the midwife that the
Queen would have a second delivery, and this double birth had been
announced to him a long time previously by two herdsmen, who asserted
in Paris that if the Queen was brought to bed of two Dauphins, it
would be the consummation of the State’s misfortune. The Cardinal de
Richelieu, consulted by the King, replied that, if the Queen should
bring twin sons into the world it would be necessary to carefully hide
the second, because he might one day wish to be King. Louis XIII. was
consequently patient in his uncertainty. When the pains of the second
labour commenced, he was overwhelmed with emotion.” The Queen is
delivered of a second child “more delicate and more handsome than the
first.” The midwife is charged with him, “and the Cardinal afterwards
took upon himself the education of this Prince who was destined to
replace the Dauphin if the latter should die. As for the shepherds
who prophesied on the subject of Anne of Austria’s confinement, the
governor did not hear them spoken of any more, whence he concludes that
the Cardinal found a means of sending them away.”

“Dame Péronnette, the midwife, brought the Prince up as her own son,
and he passed for being the bastard of some great lord of the time.
The Cardinal confided him later to the governor to educate him as
a King’s son, and this governor took him into Burgundy to his own
house. The Queen-mother seemed to fear that if the birth of this young
Dauphin should be discovered, the malcontents would revolt, because
many doctors think that the last-born of twin brothers is really the
elder, and therefore King by right. Nevertheless, Anne of Austria could
not prevail upon herself to destroy the documents which established
this birth. The Prince, at the age of nineteen, became acquainted with
this State secret by searching in a casket belonging to his governor,
in which he discovered letters from the Queen and the Cardinals de
Richelieu and Mazarin. But, in order better to assure himself of his
true condition, he asked for portraits of the late and present Kings.
The governor replied that what he had were so bad that he was waiting
for better ones to be painted, in order to place them in his apartment.
The young man proposed to go to Saint-Jean de Luz, where the court was
staying, on account of the King’s marriage with the Spanish Infanta,
and compare himself with his brother. His governor detained him, and no
longer quitted his side.

“The young Prince was then handsome as Cupid, and Cupid was very
useful to him in getting him a portrait of his brother, for a servant
with whom he had an intrigue procured him one. The Prince recognized
himself, and rushed to his governor, exclaiming, ‘This is my brother,
and here is what I am!’ The governor despatched a messenger to court
to ask for fresh instructions. The order came to imprison them both
together.”[21]

“It is at last known, this secret which has excited so lively and so
general a curiosity!”[22] says Champfort, in noticing these fictitious
_Mémoires du Maréchal de Richelieu_. This implacable and sceptic railer
allowed himself to be really seduced by this interpretation. Many
others were convinced with him, which exonerates them; and the version
given by Voltaire was rather neglected for that of Soulavie.

In our own days, the theory which makes the Man with the Iron Mask a
brother of Louis XIV. has been supported by four writers, who have
powerfully contributed to revive it, and render it more popular still.
The first two, by transferring to the stage,[23] and the third, by
weaving into the plot of one of his most ingenious romances[24] the
pathetic fate of the mysterious prisoner, have sought less to instruct
than to interest their readers, and have completely succeeded in the
purpose they had in view. The fourth writer, who, with MM. Fournier,
Arnould, and Alexandre Dumas, has adopted the romantic theory, is an
historian, M. Michelet.[25]

Before showing that this pretended brother of Louis XIV. could not be
the unknown prisoner brought by Saint-Mars to the Bastille in 1698, let
us seek when and how this theory could have been started, and, to the
end that the refutation may be complete and definitive, let us see if
his birth is not as imaginary as his adventures. There are three dates
assigned for this birth--in 1625, after the visit to France of the Duke
of Buckingham, who has been considered as the father of the Man with
the Iron Mask; in 1631, a few months after the grave illness of Louis
XIII., which caused the accession to the throne of his brother, Gaston
of Orléans, to be feared; and lastly, September 5, 1638, a few hours
after Louis XIV. came into the world.[26]

If, in this searching examination, we touch upon delicate points--if,
in order to destroy the unjust accusations with which the memory of
Anne of Austria has been defaced, we penetrate deeply into the details
of her private life and that of her royal husband--we are drawn thither
by those who, by carrying the debate on to this ground, compel us to
follow them. We shall unhesitatingly touch upon each of the memories
which they have not feared to recall, and nothing will be omitted that
can throw light upon our proof. We shall, nevertheless, strive not to
forget what is due to our readers, and the necessity of convincing them
will not make us negligent of the obligation we are under of respecting
them.


FOOTNOTES:

[13] We shall speak of these briefly further on. We believe it useless
to mention, otherwise than in a short note, the opinion of those who,
despairing of finding the solution of the Man with the Iron Mask, have
taken upon themselves to deny his existence. All the documents which we
have just cited (official despatches of the Ministry of War, Dujonca’s
_Journal_, &c. &c.) clearly establish the fact that a prisoner was
sent with Saint-Mars to the Bastille in 1698, and that he died there
in 1703, without any one ever having known his name. The silence of
the _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, which is very thoughtlessly evoked in
support of the theory in question, will be explained very naturally
in the course of this work. Neither is there any need to enlarge upon
an opinion put forward a short time since in certain journals, which
makes the Man with the Iron Mask a son of Louis XIV. and the Duchess
of Orléans. This opinion, which there is nothing whatever to prove,
which rests upon no document, nor even upon any historical fact, is,
moreover, set forth in an article filled with errors. The only cause
of the disgrace of the Marquis de Vardes, exiled to his government
of Aigues-Mortes, was an intrigue in which he played an important
part, and which had for its object the overthrow of Mademoiselle de
la Vallière and the substitution of another mistress for her. As to
the death of the Duchess of Orléans, it is now demonstrated that it
was not due to poison. M. Mignet, in his _Négociations Relatives, à
la Succession d’ Espagne_ (vol. iii. p. 206), was the first to deny
this poisoning, relying principally on a very conclusive despatch
from Lionne to Colbert, of the 1st July, 1670. Since then, M. Littré,
in the second number of _La Philosophie Positive_, has incontestably
established by the examination of the _procès-verbaux_, and of all
the circumstances relating to the death of Henrietta of England,
that it must be attributed to an internal disease, unknown to the
physicians of that period. [The Duchess of Orléans here referred to
is Henrietta-Maria, youngest daughter of Charles I. of England, who
married Philip, younger brother of Louis XIV., and first Duke of the
existing branch of the House of Orléans.--_Trans._]

[14] _Grandeur et Décadence des Romains_, chap. iv.

[15] The grave English historian, David Hume, has re-echoed this
theory, supported also by the Marquis de Luchet, in his _Remarques sur
le Masque de Fer_, 1783.

[16] The _Mémoires Secrets pour servir à l’ Histoire de Perse_,
Amsterdam, 1745, had already revealed the existence of Saint-Mars’
prisoner, and maintained that he was the Duke de Vermandois, a natural
son of Louis XIV. and Mademoiselle de la Vallière. We shall recur to
them when considering this theory, in the same way as we shall speak,
with reference to the principal theories put forward, of the works
which have discussed them, without regard to the period at which they
have appeared.

[17] _Siècle de Louis XIV._, chap. xxv.

[18] Voltaire, _Dictionnaire Philosophique_, vol. i. p. 375, 376.
Edition of 1771.

[19] London, 1790. It is known that Soulavie used the notes and papers
of the Marshal de Richelieu with such bad faith, that the Duke de
Fronsac launched an energetic protest against his father’s ex-secretary.

[20] “Account of the birth and education of the unfortunate prince
removed by the Cardinals Richelieu and Mazarin from society, and
imprisoned by order of Louis XIV., composed by the governor of the
prince on his deathbed.” (_Mémoires du Maréchal de Richelieu_, vol.
iii. chap. 4.)

[21] This story is closely reproduced in Grimm’s Correspondence, on the
assumed authority of an original letter from the Duchess de Modena,
daughter of the Regent d’Orléans, said to have been found by M. de la
Borde, a former valet-de-chambre of Louis XV., among the papers of
Marshal Richelieu, who was the Duchess’s lover.--See _Corespondence
Littéraire, Philosophique, &c., de Grunen et de Diderot_, vol. xiv.,
pp. 419-23. Paris, 1831.--_Trans._

[22] _Mercure de France._

[23] _Le Masque de Fer_ of MM. Arnould and Fournier, played with great
success at the Odéon Theatre in 1831.

[24] _Le Vicomte de Bragelonne_, by Alexander Dumas.

[25] _Histoire de France_, vol. xii. p. 435. “If Louis XVI. told
Marie-Antoinette that nothing was any longer known about him, it is
because, understanding her well, he had little desire of this secret
being sent to Vienna. Very probably the child was an _elder_ brother of
Louis XIV., and his birth obscured the question (important to them) of
knowing if their ancestor, Louis XIV., had reigned legitimately.”

[26] I shall not examine in detail the hypothesis which makes him a
child of Anne of Austria and Mazarin, since it is abandoned even by
those who are the most eager to see a brother of Louis XIV. in the
prisoner. “It is doubtful,” says M. Michelet, “if the prisoner had
been a younger brother of Louis XIV., a son of the Queen and Mazarin,
whether the succeeding kings would have kept the secret so well.”
Moreover, the general arguments which I shall advance in Chapter V.
will apply equally to a son of Mazarin, of Buckingham, or of Louis
XIII.




                              CHAPTER II.

 First Hypothesis--Portrait of Buckingham--Causes of his Visit to
 France--Ardour with which he was received--His Passion for Anne of
 Austria--Character of this Princess--Journey to Amiens--Scene in the
 Garden--The Remembrance that Anne of Austria preserved of it.


The Duke of Buckingham, charged by Charles I. with conducting
Henrietta-Maria, the new Queen of England, to London, arrived in Paris,
May 24, 1625.[27] This brilliant and audacious nobleman, who had
known how to become and to remain the ruling favourite of two kings
utterly different in character and mind, and who, from a very humble
position, had raised himself to the highest posts in the State, enjoyed
throughout the whole of Europe the most striking renown. He owed it,
however, less to the favours with which James I. had loaded him, and
which his son had continued, than to his attractive qualities and his
romantic adventures. All that Nature could bestow of grace, charm,
and the power of pleasing, he had received in profusion. Deficient in
the more precious gifts which retain, he possessed all those which
attract. He was well made, had a very handsome countenance,[28] was
of a proud bearing without being haughty, and knew how to affect,
according to circumstances, the emotion which he wished to communicate
to others, but did not feel himself. During a long stay in France,
he had succeeded in rendering exquisite those manners which were
naturally delicate, and had become accomplished in all the arts which
display the elegance of the body. He excelled in arms, showed himself
a clever horseman, and danced with a rare perfection. The adventurous
visit to Spain which he had made with the Prince of Wales[29] had
increased his reputation for elegant frivolity, and the successes which
his good looks and audacity had secured him made people forget the
defects of the incautious negotiator. Already extravagant during his
early poverty, he dissipated his fortune as if he had always lived in
the opulence for which he seemed born, displaying a magnificence and
a pomp unknown in a like degree before his time. Moreover, volatile
and presumptuous, as inconstant as pliant, without profundity in his
views, without connection in his projects, clever in maintaining
himself in power, but disastrous to the sovereigns whom he governed,
by turns insolently familiar and irresistibly attractive, sometimes
admired by the crowd for his supreme distinction, at others execrated
for his fatal authority, not low but impetuous in his caprices, not
knowing either how to foresee or to accept an obstacle, and sacrificing
everything to his fancy, he possessed none of the qualities of the
statesman although he may have had all those which characterize the
courtier.

He was expected, and was received in Paris with the most eager
curiosity. “M. de Buckingham,” wrote Richelieu to the Marquis d’Effiat,
“will find in me the friendship which he might expect from a true
brother who will render him all the services which he could desire of
any one in the world,”[30] and Louis XIII. caused to be said to him, “I
assure you that you will not be considered a stranger here, but a true
Frenchman, since you are one in heart, and have shown in this marriage
negotiation such uniform affection for the welfare and service of the
two crowns, that I think as much of it, so far as I am concerned, as
the King your master. You will be very welcome here, and you will have
access to me on all occasions.”[31]

From the day of his arrival, Buckingham really showed himself “a
true Frenchman” by his manner of behaving, by the ease and freedom
of his movements. “He entered the court,” says La Rochefoucauld,
“with more splendour, grandeur, and magnificence than if he were
King.”[32] Eight great lords and four-and-twenty knights accompanied
him. Twenty gentlemen and twelve pages were attached to his person,
and his entire suite was composed of six or seven hundred pages or
attendants.[33] “He had all the treasures of the Crown of England to
expend, and all its jewels to wear.”[34] He alighted at the splendid
Hôtel de Luynes in the Rue Saint-Thomas-du-Louvre, which was then
called the Hôtel de Chevreuse, “the most richly furnished hotel which
France at present possesses,” says the _Mercure_, and for several
days the people of Paris were dazzled by the extraordinary luxury
displayed by the ostentatious foreigner.[35] The admiration at the
court was quite as lively, and Buckingham there pushed liberality to
extravagance. Each of his sumptuous costumes was covered with pearls
and diamonds intentionally fastened on so badly that a great number
fell off, which the duke refused to receive when they were brought to
him. His prodigality, the importance of his mission, the seductiveness
which enveloped his past life, and the amiability which he invariably
displayed, his title of foreigner which rendered his perfectly French
manners more piquant, that art of pleasing which was so easy to him,
all contributed to make him alike the hero both of the town and of the
court.

Giddy with a success which surpassed even his expectations, and dazzled
by the splendour which he shed around him, he saw only the Queen of
France worthy of his homage, and suddenly conceived for her the most
vehement passion. Too frivolous to bury this sentiment in his heart,
he displayed it with complacency, and his temerity increased with
his ostentation. Anne of Austria was a Spaniard and a coquette. She
understood gallantry such as her country-women had learned it from
the Moors--that gallantry “which permits men to entertain without
criminal intentions tender sentiments for women; which inspires in
them fine actions, liberality, and all kinds of virtue.”[36] “She did
not consider,” says one who best knew Anne of Austria, “that the fine
talk, which is ordinarily called honest gallantry, where no particular
engagement is entered into, could ever be blamable.”[37]

So she tolerated with indulgence and without astonishment a passion
congenial to her recollections of her country and her youth, and
which, while flattering her self-esteem, did not at all shock her
virtue. She received this homage of vanity with the complacency of
coquetry, knowing herself to be most beautiful, most powerful, and
most worthy of being loved. On Buckingham’s side there was indiscreet
persistence, multiplied signs of being in love, and eagerness to be
near her; on hers, timid encouragement, gentle sternness, severity and
pardon by turns in her looks appeared to Anne of Austria the natural
and ordinary incidents of a gallantry where neither her honour nor
even her reputation seemed exposed to any peril. Moreover, if numerous
festivities gave them frequent opportunities of seeing one another, the
court being always present at the many interviews of the Ambassador
with the Queen, restrained and embarrassed the enterprising audacity of
the one, but entirely justified the confidence of the other.

After a week devoted to ballets, banquets, and feats of horsemanship,
the wife of Charles I. set out on June 2 for England, conducted by the
Duke of Buckingham, the Earls of Holland and Carlisle, and the Duke and
Duchess de Chevreuse. Louis XIII., who was ill, remained at Compiègne;
but Anne of Austria, as well as Marie de Medicis, accompanied by a
great number of French lords, proceeded to Amiens. There the brilliant
assemblies recommenced, and the Duke de Chaulnes, governor of the
province, gave the three Queens a most magnificent reception. During
several days the whole of the nobility of the neighbourhood came to
offer their homage and augment the brilliancy of the pleasure-parties
and fêtes given by the governor. The town not containing a palace
sufficiently large to receive the three Queens, they were lodged
separately, each being accompanied by a train of intimates and lords,
who formed a little court for her. Buckingham almost constantly
deserted his new sovereign in order to show himself wherever Anne of
Austria was. Attached to the abode of the latter was a large garden,
near the banks of the Somme. The Queen and her court were fond of
walking in it. One evening, attracted, as usual, by the beauty of the
place, and tempted by the mildness of the weather, Anne of Austria,
accompanied by Buckingham, the Duchess de Chevreuse, Lord Holland, and
all the ladies of her suite, prolonged her promenade later than usual.
Violently enamoured, and arrived at such a pitch of self-conceit that
everything seemed possible, the Duke was very tender, and even dared
to be importunate. The early departure of Henrietta Maria rendered
their separation imminent. Favoured by the falling night, and taking
advantage of a moment of isolation due to the winding of a path,
he threw himself at the Queen’s feet, and wished to give way to the
transports of his passion. But Anne, alarmed, and perceiving the danger
that she ran, uttered a loud cry, and Putange, her equerry, who was
walking a few steps behind her, rushed forward and seized the Duke. All
the suite arrived in turn, and Buckingham managed to get away in the
midst of the crowd.[38]

Two days afterwards Henrietta Maria quitted Amiens for Boulogne; Marie
de Medicis and Anne of Austria accompanied her to the gates of the
town. Anne of Austria was in a carriage with the Princess de Conti. It
was there that Buckingham took leave of her. Bending down to bid her
adieu, he covered himself with the window-curtain, in order to hide his
tears, which fell profusely. The Queen was moved at this display of
grief, and the Princess de Conti, “who gracefully rallied her, told her
that she could answer to the King for her virtue, but that she would
not do as much for her cruelty, as she suspected her eyes of having
regarded this lover with some degree of pity.”[39]

Too passionately enamoured for separation to be able to cure him of
his love, and excited still more to see Anne of Austria again by the
recollection of his gross rashness, the Duke of Buckingham, whom
unfavourable winds detained at Boulogne, returned suddenly to Amiens
with Lord Holland, under pretence of having an important letter to
deliver to Marie de Medicis, who, owing to a slight illness, had
not quitted this town. “Returned again!” said Anne of Austria to
Nogent-Bautru, on learning this news; “I thought that we were delivered
from him.”[40] She had been bled that morning, and was in bed when the
two English noblemen entered her chamber. Buckingham, blinded by his
passion, threw himself on his knees before the Queen’s bed, embracing
the coverings with ecstasy, and exhibiting, to the great scandal of
the ladies of honour, the impetuous sentiments which agitated him.
The Countess de Lannoi wished to force him to rise, telling him, with
severity, that such behaviour was not according to French customs. “I
am not French,” replied the Duke, and he continued, but always in the
presence of several witnesses, to eloquently express his tenderness
for the Queen. The latter, being very much embarrassed, could not at
first say anything; then she complained of such boldness, but without
a great deal of indignation; and it is probable that her heart took no
part in the reproaches which she addressed to the duke. The next day he
departed a second time for Boulogne, and never again saw the Queen of
France.

Such is the famous scene at Amiens, which furnished opportunities
for the gross liveliness of Tallemant des Réaux and the libertine
imagination of the Cardinal de Retz.[41] The statements of La Porte,
who was present, of Madame de Motteville, who collected her information
from eye-witnesses, and of La Rochefoucauld, less likely to show
partiality, leave no doubt of Anne of Austria’s innocence. Marie de
Medicis, whose interest it then was to injure her with Louis XIII., and
who often did so without scruple, could not on this occasion, says La
Porte,[42] “avoid bearing witness to the truth, and telling the King
that there was nothing in it; that if the Queen might have been willing
to act wrongly, it would have been impossible, with so many people
about her who were watching her, and that she could not prevent the
Duke of Buckingham having esteem or even love for her. She related also
a number of things of this kind which had happened to herself in her
youth.”

Marie de Medicis might also have quoted examples from the life of Anne
of Austria herself, who had previously loved the Duke de Montmorency
and the Duke de Bellegarde without her honour having been tarnished
by so doing.[43] The recollection of Buckingham’s love dwelt more
profoundly in the memory of all, because his passion had been more
fiery and had been manifested by incautious acts. But to the end of
the Queen’s life, even after the death of Louis XIII., and during the
regency, it was in her presence a subject of conversation which she
listened to complacently, because it flattered her self-esteem, and
which she would certainly not have tolerated, had any one dared to
start it, if this recollection had been to her a cause for remorse. Far
from this, people familiarly jested with her about it with grace, and
without offending her, since they could thus remind her of a liking
which had been sufficiently strong, but had not led her to commit any
fault. Richelieu, presenting Mazarin to the Queen, said, “You will
like him, madam, he has Buckingham’s manner.”[44] Much later Anne of
Austria, when Regent, meeting Voiture walking along in a dreamy state,
in her garden of Ruel, and asking him what he was thinking of, received
in reply these verses, which did not at all offend her:--

  “Je pensais que la destinée,
  Après tant d’injustes malheurs,
  Vous a justement couronnée
  De gloire, d’éclat et d’honneurs;
  Mais que vous étiez plus heureuse
  Lorsque vous étiez autrefois,
  Je ne veux pas dire amoureuse,
  La rime le veut toutefois.

  Je pensais (que nos autres poëtes
  Nous pensons extravagamment)
  Ce que, dans l’humeur où vous êtes,
  Vous feriez si, dans ce moment,
  Vous avisiez en cette place
  Venir le Duc de Buckingham,
  Et lequel serait en disgrâce,
  De lui ou du père Vincent.”[45]

Everything combines to absolve Anne of Austria from the crime of which
she was accused during the troubles of the Fronde, and in the midst of
the unjust passions aroused by civil war. Louis XIII.’s conduct with
respect to her, and his persistent coldness, alone seemed to condemn
her. But does this coldness date from Buckingham’s stay in Paris? Were
the isolation in which Louis XIII. often remained and his neglect of
the Queen such as people have believed up to the present time? Must
we admit, as has been maintained, the proof of a criminal infidelity
on the part of this Princess, deliberately committed either with
Buckingham in 1625, or with an unknown individual, in 1630, with the
view of being able, at the instant of Louis XIII.’s death, which then
seemed imminent, to reign in the name of a child of whom she should be
_enceinte_, and who, after the unexpected recovery of the King, became
the Man with the Iron Mask?


FOOTNOTES:

[27] _Mercure Français_, 1625, pp. 365, 366.

[28] _Mémoires de Madame de Motteville_, p. 15.

[29] The Prince of Wales had been on the point of espousing the Infanta
Maria, Anne of Austria’s sister, and had proceeded to Spain with
Buckingham, in order to hasten the conclusion of this project. See the
very interesting Story of this negotiation in M. Guizot’s _Un Projet de
Mariage Royal_.

[30] Collection of Unpublished Documents concerning the History of
France. _Lettres et Papiers d’État du Cardinal de Richelieu_, published
by M. Avenel, vol. ii. p. 55.

[31] _Ibid._ vol. ii. p. 71.

[32] _Mémoires de la Rochefoucauld_, p. 340.

[33] Hardwicke (_State Papers_), vol. i. p. 571. Documents quoted in M.
Guizot’s work already cited, p. 332.

[34] _Mémoires de Madame de Motteville_, p. 16. _Mercure Français_,
1625, p. 366.

[35] _Mercure Français_, _ibid._

[36] _Mémoires de Madame de Motteville_, p. 18. “In our time,” adds
Madame de Motteville, “there has existed what the Spaniards call
_fucezas_.” “This word,” remarks the commentator on these Memoirs,
“appears to come from _huso_, a distaff. It seems to express the idea
of spinning love.”

[37] _Ibid._

[38] _Mémoires de La Porte._ _Mémoires de Madame de Motteville_, p. 16.
_Mémoires de la Rochefoucauld_, p. 340.

[39] _Mémoires de Madame de Motteville._

[40] _Mémoires de La Porte_, pp. 8, 9. Madame de Motteville assures us
that her mistress was informed of this visit by Madame de Chevreuse,
which is possible. It is the only point, and moreover, a very secondary
one, in which La Porte’s account differs from Madame de Motteville’s.
But we must not forget that the former was an eye-witness, whilst the
latter, who entered the service of Anne of Austria afterwards, learnt
the events, which she describes at the commencement of her Memoirs,
long subsequent to their occurrence.

[41] Retz places the Amiens scene at the Louvre, and does not neglect
the opportunity of blackening the Queen’s honour.

[42] _Mémoires de La Porte_, p. 10.

[43] _Mémoires de Madame de Motteville_, p. 18.

[44] _Mémoires de Tallemant des Réaux_, vol. i. p. 422.

[45] Père Vincent was the Queen’s confessor.--_Mémoires de Madame de
Motteville_, vol. i. pp. 81, 82.




                             CHAPTER III.

 Second Hypothesis--First Feelings of Anne of Austria towards Louis
 XIII.--Joy which she experienced on arriving in France--First
 Impressions of Louis XIII.--His Aversion to Spain--His Dislike to
 Marriage--Austerity of his Manners--His persistent Coldness--Means
 adopted to induce him to consummate the Marriage--Political Position
 of Anne of Austria--Louis XIII. and Richelieu--Watch kept by the
 Minister over the Queen--The King’s Illness at Lyons.


The political story of Louis XIII.’s marriage with Anne of Austria has
been told; the motives which determined this union, the negotiations
which preceded it, the great interests connected with it, and the
powerful springs which put it in action, have all been set forth and
weighed in a decisive manner.[46]

If, neglecting this grave examination, which is entirely foreign to
our work, we occupy ourselves solely with the character and secret
thoughts of the persons thus tied to one another, and whose private
life has been ransacked in order to give a solution to the problem
of the Man with the Iron Mask, we see that a very strong liking for
France and for her King, on Anne of Austria’s part, was in accord
with the necessities of policy. Contrary to what frequently happens in
the case of royal marriages, the obligations imposed on the Infanta by
her rank were not repugnant to the sentiments of the woman, and when
she crossed the French frontier for the first time, she realized a
hope long since conceived and dearly cherished in her heart. With only
eight days between their births and at once betrothed to one another
in public opinion, the Infanta and the Dauphin had been the object of
the researches and predictions of all the astrologers of the time,[47]
who proclaimed that, having come into the world under the same sign,
they were destined to love each other, even though they might not be
united. The Infanta had believed in this augury. She had early liked
to hear the young King spoken of, she sought after his portraits, she
preferred garments of French cut, she willingly wore ear-rings formed
of fleurs-de-lis, and, the changes of the negotiation having for a
moment fixed the choice of the two Governments on her sister Doña
Maria,[48] Anne, then nine years old, declared, “that if it was to be
thus, she was resolved to pass her life in a monastery without ever
marrying.”[49] When, three years afterwards, the Duke de Mayenne, on
quitting Madrid, whither he had come to sign the marriage contract of
Anne and Louis XIII., asked the former what she wished him to say on
her behalf to the King of France, she replied: “That I am extremely
impatient to see him.” This answer having shocked the austere Countess
d’Altamira, her governess, who exclaimed--“What! madam, what will the
King of France think when M. de Mayenne tells him that you have made
such a speech?”--the Infanta rejoined, “Madam, you have taught me that
one should always be sincere; you should not be surprised then if I
speak the truth.”[50]

The two years which elapsed before her departure saw no change in these
sentiments. The 9th November, 1615, she parted at Fontarabia from her
father, Philip III., with less sorrow than he showed in allowing her
at length to leave, and it was with pride and contentment that the new
Queen, radiant with youth and beauty,[51] crossed the Bidassoa, on her
way to Bordeaux, where the French court was stopping. What kind of
husband was she about to meet there?

Very different from those of the Princess Anne were the impressions
of Louis XIII., concerning the marriage and the family to which he
was going to unite himself. People had frequently, and at an early
age, conversed with him about the project. The first replies of
the Dauphin, questioned from his most tender infancy, would have
no significance.[52] But as he advanced in age, his aversion to
everything Spanish manifested itself with characteristic energy. Twice
he replied in the negative to Henri IV., when the latter spoke to him
of the Infanta as his future wife.[53] One day, on M. de Ventelet
asking him if he liked the Spaniards, he answered, “No.” “And why,
sir?” “Because they are papa’s enemies.” “And the Infanta?” added De
Ventelet, “do you love her, sir?” “No.” “Why, sir?” “I don’t want any
Spanish love.”[54] Later, when his chaplain was making him recite
the Commandments, on coming to “Thou shalt not kill,” the Dauphin
exclaimed: “What, not the Spaniards? Oh, yes, I shall kill the
Spaniards, because they are papa’s enemies! I will beat them well!” And
on his chaplain observing that they were Christians, he replied: “May I
only kill Turks then?”[55]

To this aversion, a great deal more significant since it was contrary
to a project generally acquiesced in by those about him, soon came to
be added a certain distaste for marriage. Born with the ardent and
lascivious temperament of his father, impelled to follow his example
by conversations often loose, sometimes obscene, Louis XIII. succeeded
in modifying these early tendencies by a force of will and a power of
reflection truly rare. He was naturally an observer, he spoke little
and laughed still less. He was usually serious and grave at times when
his pages found cause for great merriment. All that he remarked became
profoundly engraved on his mind, and enabled him years afterwards to
reply with marvellous pertinency to questions which were sometimes
embarrassing. His young imagination was early struck by the singular
effects which the King’s conduct produced at the court. In his cradle
he received frequent visits, not only from his mother, but also from
Henri IV.’s repudiated wife,[56] and from his numerous mistresses. They
all sometimes found themselves assembled around him, the latter proud
of their master’s affection, Marie de Medicis irritated, jealous, and
showing it. The issue of these very open intrigues, were the Dauphin’s
companions; but he instinctively abhorred them. He struck them without
motive; would not have them at his table; absolutely refused to call
them brothers; and when Henri IV., after having beaten him without
overcoming this insurmountable repugnance, asked him the reason of it,
he answered, “Because they are not mamma’s sons.”[57]

This hatred for everything connected with illegitimacy was certainly
the origin of the chaste reserve which was to characterize so
particularly him who was the son of Henri IV. and the father of Louis
XIV. From his illegitimate brothers, this aversion extended to their
mothers, whom he qualified in very contemptuous terms, and to the
intrigues in which they were engaged. “Shall you be as ribald as
the King?” said his nurse to him one day. “No,” he answered, after
a moment’s reflection. And on her asking him if he was in love, he
replied, “No, I avoid love.”[58]

It was especially after Henri IV.’s death that the tendencies of the
young king revealed themselves. He loved his father tenderly, a great
deal more than Marie de Medicis did, who, moreover, never showed much
affection for her elder son. He worthily wept his violent death,[59]
and long afterwards, hearing at the Louvre, one of the late King’s
songs, he went aside to sob.[60] But if, while yet a child, he had
appreciated the glory of Henri IV., if he had shared his patriotic
sentiments, if he was proud of his victories, he had silently blamed
the licence which, in acts, and still more in language, then rendered
the French Court one of the most gross in Europe. As King, he would
not tolerate these excesses. He showed himself openly austere in his
speech, and modest in his actions, forbade in his presence obscene
songs and scandalous conversations, and in order to avoid any pretext
for them, replied sharply to M. de Souvré, his governor, when he wished
to talk with him about marriage: “Do not let us speak of that, sir; do
not let us speak of that.”

It was nevertheless necessary to speak of it, and to set out for
Bordeaux. Louis XIII., then in his fifteenth year, still possessed,
and was to preserve for a long time, the tastes and predilections of
his infancy. He gave himself up to them in order to divert his mind
from the marriage festivities. He kept birds, armed his gentlemen, and
enrolled them in a vigilant and disciplined troop; then he assisted
at the Council, replied pertinently to the deputations presented to
him, and thus mingled the simple amusements of the child with the
grave accomplishment of his business as King.[61] Much less desirous
of fulfilling his duties as husband, he nevertheless affected towards
the Infanta, either from self-esteem, or from a sense of propriety
towards the strangers who were bringing her to him, an attention
which surprised and charmed the court. He went to meet the train
which accompanied her, showed himself curious and pleased to see her,
and was timid, but attentive and courteous, in the first interviews
which he had with her.[62] This was all; and, if for an instant,
he possessed the manners of a gallant and attentive cavalier, he
by no means exhibited the behaviour of a lover. During the evening
after the celebration of the ceremony, he remained insensible to the
encouragements of M. de Grammont,[63] and Marie de Medicis had to exert
her authority in order to induce him to go to Anne of Austria. Four
years afterwards the marriage was not yet consummated; and this event,
ardently desired by the Court of France, disconsolate at the King’s
coldness; by the Court of Spain, which saw an insult in this disdain;
by the Pope’s nuncio, and by the Court of Tuscany, which had so much
contributed towards the union, became in some degree an affair of State.

Many efforts, many attempts were necessary to induce Louis XIII. to
change his course of behaviour, of which the remote cause may be
ascribed to his early impressions as Dauphin, and of which a more
immediate one has been discovered by the Nuncio Bentivoglio.[64]
Sometimes the King’s pride was attempted to be touched, and the politic
Nuncio, availing himself of the marriage of the Princess Christine with
the Duke of Savoy, asked Louis XIII., “If he wished to have the shame
of seeing his sister have a son before he had a Dauphin.”[65] Sometimes
recourse was had to influences still more direct.[66] At length,
January 25, 1619, Albert de Luynes, after vainly begging him to cede
to the wishes of his subjects, carried him by force into the Queen’s
chamber.[67] The following day, all the ambassadors announced this
event to their respective governments.

From that time, Louis XIII. was less scared, but almost as timid[68]
as ever, and though, preserving all his repugnances, he sometimes
overcame them as a matter of duty, and showed himself a tolerably
ardent, but never very tender husband. In the month of December, 1619,
there were reasons for hoping that the Queen was pregnant.[69] This
hope, which soon vanished, was renewed at the commencement of 1622, but
was again destroyed by a fall, which Anne of Austria had while playing
with the Duchess de Chevreuse.[70] Buckingham’s rapid visit to France,
if it left a profound remembrance in the Queen’s heart, certainly
had no influence upon the King’s conduct. Nothing was changed in the
intercourse of the two spouses, which was neither more frequent, nor
ever entirely interrupted.[71] After, as before this visit, Louis XIII.
almost invariably saw in the Queen the Spaniard in blood and affection;
and when in May, 1621, he had to announce to her the death of her
father, he did it in this wise: “Madam,” said he, “I have just now
received letters from Spain, in which they write me word for certain,
that the King your father is dead.” Then, mounting his horse, he set
out for the chase.[72] It is undoubtedly true, moreover, that Anne of
Austria, who was, to her eternal glory, to become thoroughly French on
assuming the Regency, and perceiving the true interests of her young
son, to serve them with patriotism, intelligence, and firmness, even
in opposition to her old friends, was, during the life-time of Louis
XIII., the natural centre of a secret but constant and implacable
opposition to the system which Richelieu supported. Good, but proud,
she had been galled by her husband’s indifference, humiliated by
Richelieu’s chicanery and mistrust, and irritated at not possessing
any influence, so that, in the midst of the war which divided Spain
and France, she had not wished to dissimulate the attachment which
she preserved for her own family and for her country. Badly advised
by the frivolous and restless Duchess de Chevreuse, she had engaged
in different enterprises by which, without betraying France, she had
furnished her enemies with arms sufficiently powerful for them to be
able to maintain her in disgrace with Louis XIII.

This Prince, who during his whole life longed for the moment when he
should quit his state of tutelage,[73] and who, from being under the
control of his governor, was to pass under his mother’s, then under
Albert de Luynes’, and lastly, under Richelieu’s, joined to rather
a fierce pride a true and just sense and exact knowledge of his
inferiority. He detested the yoke, but he felt that it was necessary.
Destined by his own incapacity to be for ever accomplishing the designs
of others, he submitted to constraint, although constantly disposed
to revolt. But he loved neither his mother, whom he discarded, nor De
Luynes, whose death he did not regret. Richelieu alone, not only by the
vast superiority of his genius, but especially by the obsequiousness of
his language, by incessant precautions, by continually new artifices of
humility, succeeded in seducing that unquiet and distrustful spirit,
over which flattery had no power.[74] He ended by even attaching the
King to himself, whatever may have been said about it, and by inspiring
in him an affection which was bestowed quite as much upon the man
as upon the indispensable Minister. Louis XIII. had the greatest
solicitude for Richelieu, and paid him the most delicate attentions;
and it can be affirmed, after a perusal of his letters, as yet
unpublished, that these marks of lively friendship were not merely the
result of self-interest.[75] Moreover, even when he was in possession
of supreme authority, Richelieu, ever on the alert, showed himself
to the last as studious in preserving it as he had been ingenious
and supple in acquiring it. His efforts were constantly exerted to
neutralize the influence of a Spanish Queen over a King whom he wished
to maintain in the glorious policy of Henri IV. But he did not content
himself with depriving the legitimate wife of his King of the whole of
her power, which was a matter of no difficulty. Although incapable of
criminal desires, since he could abstain from lawful pleasures, Louis
XIII., sickly and morose as he was, reaping from love only jealousy
and trouble, devoured by inquietudes and cares, had need of pouring
out his complaints, of exposing his griefs, of unbosoming himself to a
friendly heart, away from the pomp and noise which he fled. Richelieu
always directed this inclination; and if he subjugated the King’s mind
by the force of his own genius, if he fascinated him by the seductive
power of his words, he watched over all his actions by means of spies,
with whom he surrounded him, and governed even his soul through his
confessors.[76] When the Prince’s affections, “purely spiritual, and
enjoyments always chaste,” as says a contemporary, were bestowed on
instruments, indocile to the directions of the ruling Minister, the
latter knew how to conjure up scruples in the King’s mind, even for
these pure connections, and which triumphed over his inclinations. To
Madame de Hautefort succeeded, in the royal affections, Mademoiselle
de la Fayette, to her Cinq-Mars, and these three individuals, whose
relations with the King always continued perfectly irreproachable,
but who rebelled against Richelieu’s imperious will, expiated their
resistance--one in exile, another in a convent, and the third on the
scaffold.

If, then, it was true that Anne of Austria had, in 1630, committed
adultery in order to give an heir to her dying husband, how are we
to admit that a Minister so suspicious and vigilant would not have
been cognisant of it, and knowing it, would not, by informing the
convalescent King of this crime, have brought about the ruin of a
Queen whom he detested, and who, in union with Marie de Medicis, was
then plotting his downfall? It is in vain to object that a feeling of
propriety would have restrained the Cardinal:[77] he was incapable
of any such sentiment. Inflexible towards his enemies, because he
regarded them, with reason, as the enemies of the State, to unmask and
ruin them he employed a stubbornness and a persistence which nothing
could overcome. When it was necessary to persuade Louis XIII. of the
communication which the Queen kept up with Spain, the implacable
Minister could make the most minute search and put the most humiliating
questions. He could cause her dearest servants to be arrested; he could
confront her with spies; he could treat her as an obscure criminal; and
the admirable devotion of Madame de Hautefort[78] could alone enable
the Queen, very strongly suspected, but not entirely convicted, to
escape from this grave danger. And yet people desire to maintain that
Richelieu would have left Louis XIII. ignorant of a much greater crime,
and one which touched more immediately the King’s honour! Moreover,
where, when, how, and in what interest would this crime have been
committed? To conjectures and vague insinuations let us oppose positive
facts, which prove that Richelieu did not acquaint Louis XIII., because
Anne of Austria had never ceased to be innocent.

The King fell ill at Lyons, not during the early part of August, as
has been said, but on September 22, and here especially dates are of
the utmost importance.[79] He was seized with a fever, which consumed
him. The seventh day--the 29th--it was complicated by a dysentery,
which exhausted him. The attack of this last complaint, produced by
one of those medicines then much in vogue, was so violent, and its
consequences so rapid, that by midnight the doctors despaired of
saving him. Marie de Medicis had retired. Anne of Austria, who did not
leave the royal patient, resolved to have him warned by his confessor
of the danger he was in. But, at the first cautiously spoken words,
Louis XIII. conjured Father Suffren, and those who surrounded him, not
to hide the truth from him. He learned it with calmness and courage,
confessed, communicated, and asked pardon of all for any wrong he might
have done them; then, calling the Queen, he embraced her tenderly, and
addressed to her a touching farewell. As she retired on one side in
order to weep freely, the King prayed Father Suffren to go and find
her, and again beg her from him “to pardon him all the unpleasantnesses
he might have caused her the whole time of their married life.” He
afterwards conversed with Richelieu, and offered a spectacle of
the most edifying resignation. Towards the middle of the day, the
Archbishop of Lyons was preparing himself to bring in the extreme
unction, when the doctors, who had already bled this exhausted body
six times in succession, ordered a seventh bleeding.[80] But then the
true cause of the illness, which was unknown to them, was made clear;
an internal abscess broke, and nature saved the patient at the moment
when the intervention of his physicians promised to be fatal.[81] Louis
XIII., soon re-established in health, left Lyons with the Queen, who
did not cease to lavish on him the most tender cares, and whose sincere
grief had touched him. In this crisis the two spouses had forgotten
the past.[82] The repugnance and the coldness of the one, the wounded
pride of the other, had disappeared, and they were naturally led to
appreciate whatever goodness and amiability were to be found in each
other’s natures.[83]

Strong in the unaccustomed sway which she exercised, but exaggerating
its extent, Anne of Austria was not content with holding in the King’s
heart the place which properly belonged to her. Aided by the ambitious
and vindictive Marie de Medicis, after having occupied herself with
her griefs as a wife, she desired to extend her censure to affairs of
State, and to attack, in Richelieu, not only one who had kept alive
the mistrust of herself, who had called suspicion into existence, and
had separated King and Queen, mother and son, but also the stubborn
pursuer of the great policy of Henri IV., who maintained abroad the
pre-eminence of France over Spain, and the abasement of the House of
Austria. We know how Louis XIII., who was incapable of vast projects,
but who understood their value, was recalled by reasons of State to
Richelieu, and, on a famous day, confirmed his authority at the very
instant that it seemed annihilated.[84]

To what period are we to assign the commission of the fault resulting
in Anne’s pregnancy of January, 1631? It cannot have been on September
30, 1630, when Louis XIII.’s life was in danger, for the Queen was
delivered during the first five days of April, 1631.[85] Was it on the
arrival of Louis XIII. at Lyons, at the commencement of August, 1630?
But Anne of Austria did not then have the same interest in being a
mother, which, according to her accusers, she would have on September
30, when the King was dying. Either the child was still-born, or else
its conception dates from a period when Louis XIII. was its father. The
origin of this pregnancy is suspected because Richelieu, in a journal
attributed to him, and of which it has been said “that it lent to
Voltaire’s supposition rather a serious ground of argument,”[86] was
pleased to note the progress of the Queen’s condition, often sent to
inquire after her health, carried off her apothecary, then returned
him to her, forbade the Spanish ambassador to make too frequent visits
to the Louvre, and, in a word, exercised over Anne of Austria a
suspicious and unceasing vigilance. But if we admit the authenticity
of this journal, which, probable enough in certain details, is much
less so when taken as a whole, all the facts which it relates, the
espionage which it chronicles, the suspicions which it insinuates,
concern the Spaniard, irritated at Richelieu’s unexpected triumph and
dreaming of overthrowing him, not the guilty spouse whose crime it is
desired to prove. Accepting this last theory, why should Richelieu have
restored to the Queen the medical attendant who could have aided her
in concealing the consequences of her fault? Why was she not entirely
separated from all her confidants? Why were not the visits of the
Spanish ambassador altogether forbidden? Richelieu, it is true, caused
the Countess de Fargis to be dismissed. But it was only because she
had advised the Queen to espouse her brother-in-law, Gaston d’Orléans,
if she became a widow, because she had inflamed Anne of Austria’s
resentment, and because she was the soul of the opposition, of the
political intrigues, and of the secret plots against the Cardinal.
If everything in her long correspondence seized by the latter, and
existing in the archives,[87] justifies him for having exiled the
dangerous Countess, if we find in it traces of the hopes of the two
Queens, of the affections which bind them to Spain, of the successes
they desire, of the reverses they hope for, nothing can be discovered
that sullies Anne of Austria’s honour. The Countess de Fargis appears
in it as the active instigator of cabals, but not as the complacent
accomplice and the confidant of a crime.

The truth is that _enceinte_ for the third time, and fearing a third
accident, Anne of Austria did not wish the news of her condition to be
spread abroad, or to arouse in the minds of the people a hope which
the remembrance of the past rendered very uncertain of fulfilment.
That this pregnancy was due to the reconciliation arising from the
King’s illness, Richelieu himself attests, not as the doubtful author
of a journal which, however, does not contain a single line really
accusing the Queen, but as the indisputable writer of those innumerable
letters, papers, and authentic documents, which have passed from the
hands of the Duchess d’Aiguillon, his niece, into the archives of
the State.[88] “It is suspected, not without good reason, that the
Queen is _enceinte_,” he writes. “If this happiness befalls France,
it ought to receive it as a fruit of the blessing of God and of the
good understanding which has existed between the King and the Queen,
his wife, for some time past.”[89] The same care which Anne of Austria
took to conceal a third miscarriage, she had already shown with
regard to a second, which occurred March 16, 1622, and at that time
“they had hidden from the King as long as possible the destruction
of his hopes.”[90] But from the first day that Richelieu entered
upon power, nothing escaped the penetrating regard of the attentive
Minister. He watched, he observed, he knew everything. Every member
of the royal family was surrounded by some of his agents. If from
this incessant surveillance, and from the written evidence in which
it stands revealed, springs the proof that the Queen had coquetted
with Buckingham, been swayed by the counsels of the Duchess de
Chevreuse,[91] and faithful to the last recommendations of her father,
Philip III., had been always ready to support the Spanish interest near
the King; if, in a word, Richelieu represents her as a Queen but little
French, he never insinuates that she has been a guilty spouse; and
history can scarcely hope to be better informed, and certainly ought
not to show itself more rigorous than the clear-sighted and pitiless
Minister.


FOOTNOTES:

[46] _Les Mariages espagnols sous le règne d’Henri IV. et la Régence de
Marie de Medicis_, by M. Perrens, Professor at the Lycée Bonaparte.

[47] Manuscripts of the Imperial Library, _fonds Harlay_, 228, Nos. 14,
15; Court of Spain, Embassy of M. de Vaucellas, already quoted by M.
Armand Baschet in his amusing work, very rich in rare documents, _Le
Roi chez la Reine_.

[48] The Infanta Maria, married to Ferdinand III., King of Hungary,
afterwards Emperor.

[49] Despatch from M. de Vaucellas, November 20, 1610. Manuscripts
quoted above.

[50] _Mercure Français_, vol. ii. p. 549.

[51] Manuscripts of the Imperial Library, _fonds Dupuy_, 76, p. 145,
and Archives of the Château of Mouchy-Noailles, No. 1706. _Mariages des
Rois et Reines_, by M. Baschet in his book already quoted.

[52] _Journal de Jean Héroard sur l’Enfance et la Jeunesse de Louis
XIII._ Manuscripts of the Imperial Library. It has just been published
by Didot, having been edited by MM. Eud. de Soulié and Ed. de
Barthélemy, with an intelligence, a carefulness, and an erudition on
which they cannot be too strongly felicitated.

[53] _Journal d’Héroard_, November 3, 1604, and March 2, 1605.

[54] _Ibid._, April 4, 1605.

[55] _Ibid._, January 29, 1607.

[56] Marguerite de Navarre.

[57] _Journal d’Héroard_, _passim_.

[58] _Ibid._, June 9, 1604, and October 21, 1608.

[59] “Ha!” he said, when he was told of Ravaillac’s act, “if I had been
there with my sword, I would have killed him.”--_Journal d’Héroard_,
May 14, 1610.

[60] Another day, November 14, 1611, he proceeded to St. Germain. “He
went there to visit his brother, who was ill of an _endormissement_,
accompanied with slight convulsions. He awoke, and Louis XIII. said to
him, ‘Bonsoir, mon frère.’ He replied, ‘Bonsoir, _mon petit papa_.’ At
these words Louis XIII. commenced to weep, went away, and was not seen
for the whole of the day.”--_Journal d’Héroard_, Nov. 14, 1611.

[61] _Mémoires du Maréchal de Bassompierre.--Journal d’Héroard._

[62] Despatch from the ambassador of the Grand Duke of Tuscany,
Matteo Bartolini, December 4, 1615, quoted by M. A. Baschet. _Journal
d’Héroard_, November 21, 1615.

[63] _Journal d’Héroard_, November 25, 1615.

[64] Despatch of the Nuncio Bentivoglio, January 30, 1619.

[65] _Ibid._, January 16, 1619.

[66] Despatch of Contarini, ambassador from Venice, Jan. 27, 1619.

[67] Despatches of the Nuncio Bentivoglio, vol. i. pp. 157, 240, 300;
and vol. ii. pp. 10, 31, 39, 40, 44, 80, 82, and 84. Despatch of
Bentivoglio, January 30, 1619. See also despatches from the Venetian
ambassador, January 27, and February 5, 1619; the _Journal d’Héroard_,
January 25, 1619; Letter from Father Joseph to the Minister of Spain,
February 14, 1619; and, lastly, the _Mémoires de Bassompierre_, vol.
ii. p. 147.

[68] To the causes of Louis XIII.’s reserve, which we have just cited,
may be added another, which the duty of not omitting anything causes
us to indicate. According to the _Rélation de Don Fernando Giron_
(Archives of Simancas), Louis XIII. held aloof from Anne of Austria
“because he had been persuaded that if he had a son, while yet so
young, it would cause a civil war in the kingdom.” Nothing, however,
confirms this supposition, or renders it likely.

[69] Despatch of the Nuncio Bentivoglio, December 4, 1619.

[70] _Mémoires de Bassompierre_, confirmed by the _Journal d’Héroard_,
March 26, 1622.

[71] _Journal d’Héroard_, _passim_, and especially June 8, and August
21, 1626.

[72] _Ibid._, May 10, 1621.

[73] “He was playing with some little balls, rolling them along his
taper stand, and calling them soldiers. M. de Souvré reproved him,
and told him that he was always amusing himself at childish games.
‘But, Monsieur de Souvré, these are soldiers; this is not a child’s
game!’ ‘Sir, you will always be a child.’ ‘It is you who keep me
one!’”--_Journal d’Héroard_, February 21, 1610.

[74] Several facts cited by Héroard prove that Louis XIII. was not at
all sensible to flattery. (See particularly Oct 8, and Dec. 3, 1610.)

[75] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Manuscripts. Original
Letters of Louis XIII. Section France, 5.

[76] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Manuscripts. Section
France, vol. lxxxviii. fol. 99, and lxxxix. fols. 3, 23, 67, 78, and
103.

[77] M. Michelet indicates another motive which it is only necessary to
cite in order to show its improbability. “Richelieu,” he says, “trusted
in the weakness of the Queen’s nature, and, consequently, that one day
or other she would be involved in some embarrassment or thoughtlessness
which would leave her at his mercy.”

[78] _Mémoires de La Porte_, p. 370.

[79] Letter from Richelieu to Marshal de Schonberg, September 25,
1630; Letter from Father Suffren, Louis XIII.’s confessor, to Father
Jacquinot, October 1, 1630.

[80] Letter from Father Suffren, already quoted. In one year Bouvart,
Louis XIII.’s doctor, had him bled 47 times, made him take 212
medicines and 215 injections.--_Archives Curieuses de l’Histoire de
France_, by Cimber and Danjou, 2nd series, vol. v. p. 63.

[81] Letter from Richelieu to Schonberg, September 30, 1630; Letter
from Richelieu to d’Effiat, October 1, 1630.--_Mémoires de Richelieu_,
book xi. vol vi. p. 296. Letter from Father Suffren, already quoted.

[82] A similar and as perfect return of lively affection and reciprocal
tenderness was produced anew on the occasion of the illness of
February, 1643, to which Louis XIII. succumbed. See the _Mémoire fidèle
des choses qui se sont passées à la mort de Louis XIII._, written by
Dubois, his valet-de-chambre. The ingenuousness and the precision in
details which it exhibits does not permit us to doubt the exactitude
and authenticity of this account. See also Archives of the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs: _Mémoires Manuscrits de Lamothe-Goulas, Secrétaire des
Commandements du Duc d’Orléans_, vol. ii. p. 368.

[83] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs: _Mémoires Manuscrits
de Lamothe-Goulas, Secrétaire des Commandements du Duc d’Orléans_, vol.
ii. p. 367.

[84] November 11, 1630--known in French history as “the Day of the
Dupes”--when the Duke de Saint-Simon, father of the famous memoir
writer, brought about a secret interview between Richelieu, who, in
disgrace, was on the eve of retiring to Havre, and Louis XIII., then at
his hunting-seat of Versailles. At the moment when every one believed
the downfall of the once all-powerful Minister to be complete, the
latter succeeded in recovering his lost influence over the King, of
which he had been deprived through the intrigues of Marie de Medicis,
who had demanded of her son whether he was “so unnatural as to prefer a
valet to his mother.” Richelieu, when firmly reinstated in power, did
not spare the queen-mother’s partisans, upon several of whom he avenged
himself with his accustomed severity.--_Trans._

[85] This date is given in Richelieu’s Journal, of which we are about
to speak.

[86] M. Jules Loiseleur, _Revue Contemporaine_, of July 31, 1867, p.
223. This Journal has been published in the _Archives Curieuses de
l’Histoire de France_, of Cimber and Danjou, 2nd series, vol. v.

[87] Imperial Library. Manuscripts, _ancien fonds Français_, No. 9241.

[88] _Lettres et Papiers de Richelieu_, published in the collection of
_Documents inédits de l’Histoire de France_, by M. Avenel, Conservator
of the Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, with a profound knowledge of the
period with which he is concerned, and an exactitude, an intelligence
and a care for which one cannot too highly praise him.

[89] _Lettres et Papiers de Richelieu_, vol. iv. p. 115.

[90] _Mémoires de Bassompierre._

[91] Marie de Rohan, Duchess de Chevreuse, who possessed so great an
influence over Anne of Austria, was the daughter of Hercule de Rohan,
Duke de Montbazon, Governor of Paris, and one of the first noblemen
of France. In 1617, she espoused Albert de Luynes, favourite of Louis
XIII., who on the occasion of the marriage created his confidant a duke
and appointed his wife Superintendent of the Queen’s Household. Shortly
after the death of her husband, in 1621, from fever caught at the siege
of Montauban, she married Claude de Lorraine, Duke de Chevreuse, the
son of that Duke de Guise whom Henry III. caused to be assassinated at
Blois. The Duchess de Chevreuse was a charming and beautiful woman,
gifted with extraordinary powers of intellect and proud of her high
lineage, but incorrigibly given to intrigue.--_Trans._




                              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.


FOOTNOTES:

[92] Voltaire, _Dictionnaire Philosophique_, vol. i. p. 375.

[93] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section France, 5.
There exists, amongst others, a letter of January 10, 1637, in which
Louis XIII. writes to Richelieu “that he will have the Queen come to
Saint-Germain, the evenings there being very long without company.”

[94] Dulaure, _Histoire de Paris_; Simonde Sismondi, _Histoire des
Français_; Dufey de l’Yonne, _Histoire de la Bastille_; The Chevalier
de Cubières, _Voyage à la Bastille_.

[95] The Old Pretender.--_Trans._

[96] M. Topin is in error. William was, in fact, remonstrated with by
the Whigs for having publicly acknowledged a birth which the great
majority of the English people at that time believed to be a feigned
one.--_Trans._

[97] The child was said to have been brought in in a warming-pan.

[98] _Journal d’Héroard_, September 26, 27, 1601.

[99] _Corps Universel Diplomatique du Droit des Gens_, of Dumont,
Supplement, vol. iv. p. 176. Letter from Chavigny to the Cardinal
de Richelieu, September 6, 1638. Despatch from Louis XIII. to M. de
Bellièvre, his ambassador in England, September 5, 1638.--Manuscripts
of the Imperial Library, _fonds Saint-Germain_, _Harlay_, 364²⁷, fol.
170.

[100] “The King was present all the time, and his two attacks of fever
have not in any way diminished his strength,” writes Chavigny in the
letter in which he relates to Richelieu, then absent from the court,
the birth of the Dauphin. This precise statement destroys that of M.
Michelet, who, from an anonymous Life of Madame de Hautefort, says that
“Louis XIII. would have consoled himself without difficulty at seeing
his Spaniard die, and that during the pains he had history read to him
to find an example of a King of France having married his subject.”--M.
Michelet, _Histoire de France_, vol. xii. p. 211.

[101] Dumont, _Corps Diplomatique du Droit des Gens_, vol. iv. p. 176.

[102] Letter from Chavigny to the Cardinal de Richelieu, September 6,
1638. Louis XIII. made his brother a present of six thousand crowns,
“which consoled him a little,” says Chavigny.

[103] Letters of Louis XIII.:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs, section France, 5. _Journal d’Héroard_. _Lettres Missives
d’Henri IV._, vol. v. p. 507.

[104] It is generally believed that the famous vow of Louis XIII.,
placing his kingdom under the protection of the Virgin, was made on
account of Anne of Austria’s pregnancy. It was not so. The Queen’s
condition was manifest in January, 1638, and “the declaration for
the protection of the Virgin” is of December, 1637. It was made “on
account of gratitude for so many evident favours accorded to the
King.”--_Lettres et Papiers de Richelieu_, vol. v. p. 908.

[105] Richelieu left Ruel at the end of July, and went successively to
Amiens, Abbeville, Ham, and Saint-Quentin. It was in this last town
that he learnt the happy event and went at once to the church with a
grand _cortège_. “He heard mass sung there by his chaplain, then the
_Te Deum_ and the _Domine salvum_.” He then wrote to the King and
Queen to congratulate them.--_Gazette de France_, p. 535; _Lettres
et Papiers de Richelieu_, vol. vi. p. 75, _et seq._ The 2nd October,
Richelieu left the army to return to Saint-Germain. “The King arrived
on Wednesday at Saint-Germain, whither the Cardinal-duke repaired from
our armies the same day and almost the same hour as his Majesty, whom
he found in the room of Monseigneur the Dauphin, where the Queen also
was. It would be difficult to express with what transports of joy
his eminence was seized on seeing between the father and the mother
this admirable child, the object of his desires and the limit of his
content.”--_Gazette de France_, p. 580.

[106] At this part of his work, M. Topin has thought it necessary
for his argument to dwell on certain medical details, which, out of
delicacy to English readers, I have preferred to suppress.--_Trans._

[107] In the account we have reproduced in Chap. I. See p. 15 _ante_.




                              CHAPTER V.

 Motives which hinder one from admitting the Existence, the Arrest and
 the Imprisonment of a mysterious Son of Anne of Austria--The Period at
 which he is said to have been handed over to Saint-Mars, according to
 the Authors of this Theory, cannot be reconciled with any of the Dates
 at which Prisoners were sent to this Gaoler--Other Considerations
 which formally oppose even the Probability of the Theory that makes
 the Man with the Iron Mask a Brother of Louis XIV.


Let us forget the scenes that have just been recalled. Let us cease
for an instant to take into account proofs brought forward and
considerations advanced, and consent to admit each of the assertions
previously combated. This mysterious son of Anne of Austria came into
the world either in 1629, having Buckingham for father; or, in 1631, on
account of the danger that the life of Louis XIII. was in; or else in
1638, some hours after the birth of a brother. He exists. Received by
an agent as devoted as discreet, he has been brought up in the country,
the resemblance which reveals his high origin has been successfully
hidden from every one, and his person placed in security from all
investigations. But at what period was he imprisoned, and for what
cause? Of his youth, of his early years, passed in the obscurity of a
retreat far from the court, there are no traces, and there is no reason
for surprise at this. But as soon as he becomes the famous prisoner
whom Saint-Mars brought in 1698 from the Isles Sainte-Marguerite to the
Bastille, we have the right to ask, and we must seek when, how, and
under what circumstances he was arrested and confided to his gaoler.

It would be to a certain extent probable that, left at liberty as long
as his mother was alive, he was imprisoned only after her death. But
Anne of Austria dies on January 20, 1666, and Saint-Mars receives no
prisoner. Does the arrest date, as Voltaire affirms, from the year
1661, when Mazarin died? But Saint-Mars was then, and was to remain
for three years, a brigadier of musketeers; and it is in December,
1664, that D’Artagnan, his captain, points him out to the choice of
Louis XIV. as governor of the prison of Pignerol, whither, a month
afterwards, Fouquet is taken and confided to his vigilant guardianship.
On August 20, 1669, a second prisoner, Eustache d’Auger, arrives; but
he is only an obscure spy, and is soon placed with Fouquet to serve him
as a domestic. Would one have charged with this care,--would one have
placed in the service of Fouquet, who, during the whole of his life
had lived near Louis XIV. and Anne of Austria, a prince whose features
recalled those of the King? No other prisoner is brought to Saint-Mars
until the arrival of the Count de Lauzun in 1671. Since then, and from
time to time, others are confided to him, but we know their crimes or
their offences, are not ignorant of the causes of their arrest, and see
them rather badly treated; and when, in 1681, Saint-Mars passes from
the governorship of Pignerol to that of the fortress of Exiles, he only
takes with him two prisoners, of whom he speaks contemptuously as “two
crows.”[108] At Exiles as at Pignerol--at the Isles Sainte-Marguerite,
of which Saint-Mars was in 1687 appointed governor, as at Exiles--if
fresh culprits are confided to him, we know to what motive to attribute
their detention, and nothing in their past, nothing in the treatment
of which they are the object, nothing in their actions, allows us to
suspect in any one of them a brother of Louis XIV. Certainly, one
would hardly expect to find a despatch designating one of Saint-Mars’
prisoners by the title of prince, and in order to be convinced we
do not exact anything of the kind. But when, examining, one by one,
each of the captives sent to the future governor of the Bastille, and
amongst whom is necessarily the one that he traversed France with in
1698, we account for the causes of their arrest, and penetrate into
their past; when a hundred authentic despatches[109] enable us to
affirm that there are no other prisoners besides these, are we not
justified in demanding where, then, is the son of Anne of Austria?

This famous despatch, a fragment of which was timidly quoted some
years ago in a work from which it has since been omitted,[110]--this
despatch, in the existence of which criticism had concluded to
disbelieve,[111] and which is of capital importance, actually does
exist and is authentic. It was dictated by Barbézieux,[112] and
addressed to Saint-Mars, at the moment when the latter had under his
guardianship the prisoner whom he was to take with him to the Bastille,
and who died there in 1703:--

“Monsieur--I have received, with your letter of the 10th of this
month, the copy of that which Monsieur de Pontchartrain has written to
you concerning the prisoners who are at the Isles Sainte-Marguerite,
upon orders of the King, signed by him, or of the late Monsieur de
Seignelay. You have no other rules of conduct to follow with respect to
all those who are confided to your keeping beyond continuing to look to
their security, _without explaining yourself to any one whatever about
what your old prisoner_ HAS DONE.”[113]

But what crime could this pretended brother of Louis XIV. have
committed, except, indeed, that of coming into the world? Is it
objected that a slight fault committed in prison may be referred to,
and that Barbézieux, in this despatch, alludes to a recent occurrence?
But, if he recommends Saint-Mars not to explain himself to any one
whatever, it is evident that curiosity had been excited, and that every
one on the island trying to satisfy it, the Minister thought it right
to recommend, more energetically than ever, an absolute discretion.
Would this discretion have been necessary, and would Saint-Mars have
been questioned, if only an insignificant breach of the internal rules
of the prison had been in question?

Finally, what is one to think of the attentions, respect, particular
care, evidences of an humble deference, all the accessory circumstances
that have been invoked in favour of an opinion which nothing certain
justifies? Amongst the incidents upon which so much stress has been
laid, and which form, in some degree, the romantic _dossier_ of the
Man with the Iron Mask, some are exact, and will find their natural
explanation further on. Others, such as the visit of Louvois to the
Isles Sainte-Marguerite, have been invented at pleasure by popular
imagination, and too easily welcomed by a complaisant credulity. It has
been said, and is repeated every day, that the Minister visited this
island, and there spoke to the prisoner “with a degree of consideration
which partook of respect,”[114] styling him “monseigneur.” Now Louvois
was only absent from the court in 1680 for a few weeks in order
to go to Baréges. We have, day for day, the names of the towns he
passed through.[115] The Isles Sainte-Marguerite, where, by the way,
Saint-Mars did not arrive till seven years later, do not figure in
the itinerary; and, after this journey, Louvois never returned again
to the South of France. As to the dramatic episode of the silver
dish thrown out of the window, which exposes the fisherman who finds
it at his feet to a great danger, it has its origin in a similar
attempt made by a Protestant minister confined, in 1692, at the Isles
Sainte-Marguerite. This minister tried to interest people in his lot,
by writing his complaints, not on a silver dish, which he did not
have at his disposition, but upon a pewter plate, which determined
Saint-Mars to give him only earthenware for the future.[116] The fact
has been applied later to the Man with the Iron Mask, to whom, as to
all legendary heroes, the adventures of very different personages are
ascribed. A careful examination of all the despatches collected will
enable one to trace back each of these rumours to its origin, and
separate what is purely legendary from what is really historical.

But because the exactitude of many of the acts attributed to the Man
with the Iron Mask is disproved by this examination, one would be wrong
in concluding that he never existed, or that, at least, there was not
a great interest in concealing his existence. It is incontestable that
Saint-Mars did, in 1698, escort to Paris a prisoner who died there five
years later, who was known at the Bastille only under the name of “the
prisoner from Provence,” and whose mysterious memory was perpetuated
in the redoubtable fortress, to spread rapidly afterwards through the
entire world. These are the real data of the problem. Although freed
from all the foreign elements that have been mixed up with it, it
exists and it remains to be solved. It is true that in the eyes of
some, to take away the seductive figure of a brother of Louis XIV. is
greatly to diminish the interest. But, addressing ourselves to those
for whom truth alone has a sovereign and incomparable charm, we say
to them: The Man with the Iron Mask is not a son of Anne of Austria,
because to the impossibility of fixing the date of his birth is added
the not less evident impossibility of proving his incarceration. If, in
order to show that his birth is imaginary, we have touched upon many
delicate points, it is because the gravity of the accusations with
which, in our days, the memory of Anne of Austria has been stigmatized,
render such justifications necessary. In addition to which, even should
these researches be indiscreet, it is much less blamable to have made
them for the purpose of defence rather than of accusation, and to have
raised certain veils, in order to let innocence shine forth in place of
calumniating it.


FOOTNOTES:

[108] All these facts come from official documents, authentic and
transcribed by us. We shall give them further on when we introduce
Saint-Mars into the story.

[109] Archives of the Ministry of Marine; Archives of the Ministry of
War; Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; Imperial Archives;
Registers of the Secretary’s Office of the King’s Household.

[110] _Biographie Universelle_ of Michaud, article on the “Man with the
Iron Mask,” by Weiss. The second edition does not give the extract from
this despatch, given in the first.

[111] See, amongst others, the opinion of M. Jules Loiseleur, _Revue
Contemporaine_, article already cited.

[112] Louis François Le Tellier, Marquis de Barbézieux, many of
whose despatches are quoted in the course of this work, succeeded
his father Louvois as Minister of War, on the death of the latter in
1691.--_Trans._

[113] Archives of the Ministry of Marine; Archives of the Ministry of
War; Imperial Archives; Registers of the Secretary’s Office of the
King’s Household.

[114] Voltaire, _Siècle de Louis XIV._, chap. xxv.

[115] Louvois had broken his leg the 3rd August, 1679. To complete
the cure, which was slow, the doctors advised the Minister to go to
Baréges. (See vol. iii. p. 513 _et seq._ of the excellent _Histoire de
Louvois_ of M. Camille Rousset).

[116] Despatches from Seignelay to Saint-Mars; Archives of the Ministry
of Marine; Imperial Archives; Registers of the Secretary’s Office of
the King’s Household.




                              CHAPTER VI.

 The Count de Vermandois--His Portrait--Mademoiselle de la Vallière,
 his Mother--Anecdote from the _Mémoires Secrets pour servir à
 l’Histoire de Perse_--Father Griffet adopts its Conclusions--Arguments
 that he advances--Motives which render certain of Mademoiselle de
 Montpensier’s Appreciations suspicious--Improbability of the Story in
 the _Mémoires de Perse_--Illness of the Count de Vermandois--Reality
 of his Death attested by the most authentic Despatches--Magnificence
 of his Obsequies--Pious Endowments at Arras.


Those whose minds are naturally inclined to the romantic, but whom even
a superficial examination of the question of the Man with the Iron
Mask has determined to put the hypothesis which makes him a son of
Anne of Austria, on one side,[117] willingly see in him the Count de
Vermandois, natural son of Louis XIV. and Mademoiselle de la Vallière.
This opinion is a kind of compromise between the impossibility of
accepting an imaginary being for hero, and the desire of seeing in the
mysterious prisoner a very high personage. After having sacrificed to
truth this unfortunate brother of Louis XIV., called to the throne by
his origin, and kept away from it by a perpetual detention, they take
refuge in an intermediary system, undoubtedly less tempting, but of
which the attraction is still very exciting, and which, in a certain
degree, reconciles the exigencies of truth with the taste for the
romantic.

It is no longer the question of a prince of whose very birth we are
ignorant. The present one actually existed, and such interest as he
inspires from the moment he comes into the world he owes to her who
gave him birth. He is the son of that La Vallière, equally touching in
her heroic resistance to the inclination which impels her towards Louis
XIV., and in her yielding, whom one esteems even when she succumbs, and
whom one admires when she rises again to flee from the peril; who, long
virtuous, always upright and disinterested, lives entirely absorbed
in her passion, then takes refuge in penitence, and powerful without
having desired it; ignorant or careless of her influence, strong in
her very weakness, subjugates without art and without study the most
imperious of kings; who, after having charmed all her contemporaries
by her sweet and simple grace, and passed from the torments of a
love unceasingly combated to the voluntary rigours of an expiation
courageously submitted to for thirty years, has remained the most
pleasing and most interesting character of this great reign, and will
seduce even the most remote posterity.

Louis de Bourbon, Count de Vermandois, inherited his mother’s grace.
He was tall and well made, and, like her, instinctively possessed that
gift of pleasing which is never so engaging as when all about it is
natural and nothing appears to depend upon art. Good and liberal, he
had ways of obliging that were peculiar to himself,[118] and the most
sensitive of men could not feel offended at his kindnesses. With such
as these, when he wished to aid them, he made bets which he was certain
to lose, or he sent them money by a hand which remained unknown. He was
suspected of acts of generosity, which he never acknowledged himself
the author of, and those whom he obliged had their necessities relieved
without being required to testify their gratitude. His proud bearing
and the air of supreme distinction which he inherited from his royal
father, drew attention towards him still more than his high origin. To
these outward charms, to these sentiments of exquisite delicacy and
natural kindliness, which attached to him the soldier as much as the
officer, Vermandois united a ready wit, a well-proved courage, a lively
wish to distinguish himself, and to merit by splendid achievements the
high dignity[119] to which, at the age of two years, he had been raised
by the affection and pride of Louis XIV. Whilst still very young, and
already in the midst of the army of Flanders, he had concealed a severe
illness in order not to miss the noble rendezvous of an attack.[120]
Like many of those destined to die prematurely, and who appear to
foresee it, Vermandois hastened as it were through life, and seemed
to strive, in endeavouring to render himself early illustrious, to
anticipate the blow that was about to strike him. But sufficient time
to attain glory was to fail him, and it was his destiny to leave behind
him only the touching souvenir that attaches itself to beautiful hopes
suddenly dissipated by death.

An unforeseen _amende_ was, nevertheless, reserved for his memory.
Sixty years after his sad end an idea suddenly sprang up of adding
twenty years of captivity to his short existence, and with the view of
rendering his destiny still more lamentable, of representing him as the
mysterious victim of the rigours of Louis XIV.

In 1745 there appeared at Amsterdam the _Mémoires Secrets pour servir
à l’Histoire de Perse_,[121] which, under supposititious names,
contain the anecdotic history of the Court of France. This book, which
had a prodigious success, and the editions of which were rapidly
multiplied, owed in a great measure its celebrity to the following
narration: “Cha-abas (Louis XIV.) had a legitimate son, Sephi-Mirza
(Louis, Dauphin of France), and a natural son, Giafer (Louis de
Bourbon, Count de Vermandois). Almost of the same age, they were of
opposite characters. The latter did not allow any occasion to escape
of saying that he pitied the French being destined some day to obey a
prince without talent, and so little worthy to rule them. Cha-abas,
to whom this conduct was reported, was fully sensible of its danger.
But authority yielded to paternal love, and this absolute monarch had
not sufficient strength to impose his will upon a son who abused his
kindness. Finally, Giafer so far forgot himself one day as to strike
Sephi-Mirza. Cha-abas is at once informed of this. He trembles for
the culprit, but, however desirous he may be of feigning to ignore
this crime, what he owes to himself and to his crown, combined with
the noise this action has made at court, will not allow him to pay
regard to his affection. He assembles, not without doing violence to
his feelings, his most intimate confidants, allows them to see all his
grief, and asks their advice. In view of the magnitude of the crime
and conformably to the laws of the State, every one is in favour of
inflicting the punishment of death. What a blow for so tender a father!
However, one of the Ministers, more sensitive to the affliction of
Cha-abas than the rest, tells him that there is a method of punishing
Giafer without depriving him of life; that he should be sent to the
army, which was then upon the frontiers of Feldran (Flanders); that
shortly after his arrival, rumours could be spread that he was attacked
by the plague, in order to alarm and keep away from him all those who
might wish to see him; that at the end of several days of feigned
illness, he should be made to pass for dead, and that, whilst in the
presence of the whole army obsequies worthy of his birth were performed
for him, he should be transferred by night with great secrecy to the
citadel of the island of Ormus (Isle Sainte-Marguerite). This advice
was generally approved of, and above all by an afflicted father.
Faithful and discreet people were chosen for the management of the
affair. Giafer starts for the army with a magnificent train. Everything
is carried out as had been projected, and whilst the death of this
unfortunate prince is being lamented in the camp, he is conveyed by
by-roads to the island of Ormus, and placed in charge of the governor,
who had received in advance the order of Cha-abas not to let his
prisoner be seen by any one whatever. A single servant, who was in the
secret, was sent with the Prince. But, having died upon the journey,
the leaders of the escort disfigured his face with dagger-strokes in
order to prevent his being recognized, left him lying upon the road,
and after having stripped him as a further precaution, continued their
route. Giafer was transferred to the citadel of Ispahan (the Bastille)
when Cha-abas bestowed the governorship of it upon the governor of the
island of Ormus as a recompence for his fidelity. The precaution was
taken at the island of Ormus, as at the citadel of Ispahan, to put a
mask over the face of Giafer, when on account of illness, or other
causes, it was necessary to let him be seen by any one.”[122]

This narration, which for the first time presented to public curiosity
the anecdote of the Man with the Iron Mask, at once furnished food for
conversation and became the subject of the most lively controversies.
Several distinguished critics hastened to adopt the opinion it
expressed, while others combated it, and for a long time the _Année
Littéraire_ of Fréron was the theatre of a debate which had the
_savants_ and the curious of the whole world for attentive audience.
Voltaire himself, in introducing for the first time the hypothesis
which makes the Man with the Iron Mask a brother of Louis XIV., did not
succeed in stifling an opinion which had secured a clever defender.
Father Griffet, a patient disciple of Father Daniel, and the author of
an excellent _Histoire de Louis XIII._, published in 1765, in his fine
_Traité des Différentes Sortes des Preuves qui servent à établir la
Vérité dans l’Histoire_, a long dissertation upon the Man with the Iron
Mask, and in it pronounced resolutely for the Count de Vermandois. What
proofs, or at least what probabilities, did he invoke?

He bases his argument upon the _Mémoires de Mademoiselle de
Montpensier_, in which we read that “when Vermandois left for the
siege of Courtray, he had not long returned to the court; that the
King had been displeased with his conduct and would not see him, on
account of his having been mixed up with parties of debauchery; that
since that time he had lived in a very retired manner, and only went
out to go to the Academy[123] and to mass in the morning; that those
whose company he had been keeping were not agreeable to the King,
which caused much grief to Mademoiselle de la Vallière, by whom he
was well scolded.”[124] Father Griffet added that, long before the
publication of the _Mémoires Secrets de Perse_, a rumour had spread
that the Count de Vermandois had been guilty, before his departure for
the army, of some great crime, such as a blow given to the Dauphin.
“It had been generally spoken of,” says he, “on the strength of one of
those traditions which have need, indeed, of being proved, but which
are not necessarily false; the remembrance of this one had always been
preserved, although there was not much noise made about it in the time
of the late King, for fear of displeasing him; of this many people
who lived under his reign can bear witness.” The learned historian
found another argument in the very name under which the prisoner of
Saint-Mars was inscribed in the registers of the Church of Saint-Paul,
the letters which form this name of Marchiali being those of the two
words _hic amiral_, and designating thus by an anagram the high dignity
of the son of Mademoiselle de la Vallière. Finally, he published in the
_Année Littéraire_ a second tradition, according to which “on the very
day the body of the Count de Vermandois was to be transported to Arras,
there left the camp, by a by-way, a litter in which it was believed
there was a prisoner of importance, although the rumour was spread that
the military chest was enclosed in it.”

Of all these allegations, the only one that deserves to be discussed is
that which, reposing upon special evidence, namely, the _Mémoires de
Mademoiselle de Montpensier_, shows us the Count de Vermandois, fallen
into disgrace with Louis XIV. for having mixed himself up in certain
debaucheries, and starting almost at once for Courtray, where he was
to meet his death. One certainly finds no allusion to “a great crime”
committed by Vermandois upon the person of his legitimate brother, and
this very silence would suffice to invalidate the pretended tradition
invoked by Father Griffet. But as, from another point of view, these
_Mémoires_ furnish a kind of basis for his argument, reveal a stain on
the memory of Vermandois, and indicate a period at which the offence
might have been possible, it is essential the value of this evidence
should be weighed.

In his _Traité des Différentes Sortes de Preuves qui servent à établir
la Vérité dans l’Histoire_, Father Griffet himself very judiciously
remarks that before adopting the opinion of a writer upon an
individual whose contemporary he had been, it is desirable to examine
whether he had not a powerful interest either to praise or to blame
him. Father Griffet displayed more prudent sagacity when he enunciated
this excellent precept than when he neglected to apply it to the
_Mémoires de Mademoiselle de Montpensier_. He ought to have shown
this romantic princess in her true light, endowed with a too lively
imagination, whose self-esteem rendered her extremely accessible to
the influence of others and incapable of protecting herself against
interested suggestions; whom Madame de Montespan and Madame de
Maintenon, by incessant attentions and delicate and careful acts of
civility, easily gained over to their long-time common cause; and,
in a word, whose credulous mind was entrapped by Madame de Maintenon
in favour of the children of whom she was governess, and whom Madame
de Montespan had had by Louis XIV. To love these, and above all the
awkward Duke du Maine, must have led her almost infallibly to repulse
the highly-gifted son of Mademoiselle de la Vallière, who had the
least intriguing and the most disinterested of the royal favourites
for mother, whilst his brother, better seconded, received from those
surrounding him advice suitable to gain the heart, and perhaps one
day assure him the immense fortune,[125] of the opulent cousin of
Louis XIV. To attain this object, to influence her, as was done, in
favour of a child deprived of all attractive qualities, they did not
hesitate dictating for her the most affectionate letters to the Duke
du Maine, pointing out to him the steps most likely to please her,
and suggesting to him filial sentiments for a Princess whom they ended
by inspiring with a veritable maternal love, of which Mademoiselle de
Montpensier had all the jealousy, at first provoked but afterwards
spontaneous, and which led her to detest the brilliant rival of the
very insignificant but attentive Duke du Maine. This sentiment breaks
out in several parts of her _Mémoires_. “It seemed to me,” she remarks,
“that it was in order to disparage M. du Maine people said that no one
would ever equal M. de Vermandois.” And elsewhere, “I was not vexed at
the death of M. de Vermandois, I was well pleased that M. du Maine had
nothing to do with his affairs.”[126] How, after this, can we put faith
in such suspicious testimony? There is nothing to prove and nothing to
disprove that Vermandois may have been led away by youth into being
present at some dissolute pleasure-party unknown to the King, and that
he may have incurred the latter’s reproaches by this conduct. But his
disgrace and the causes to which it is ascribed, his hasty departure,
his father refusing to see him and banishing him from his presence,
Mademoiselle de la Vallière in distress: all these circumstances,
which are only to be found in the _Mémoires_ of the adoptive mother
of the Duke du Maine--must we accept them when impartial witnesses
bestow unqualified praises upon the Count de Vermandois[127] and relate
nothing that can tarnish his memory? Must we accept them when, some
days after this pretended disgrace, and at the first news of what was
thought to be only a slight indisposition, Louis XIV. writes to the
Marquis de Montchevreuil to cause Vermandois to return at once to the
court, in order that greater care may be taken of him and that he may
more thoroughly recover.[128]

Is there any need to set forth the impossibility of admitting that of
two sons of Louis XIV., one, the Grand-Dauphin, the heir to the crown,
could have received from the other the gravest of insults, in the
midst of the court and at the end of a violent discussion, without any
contemporary writer having spoken of an event which would have had an
inevitable celebrity? In order to make this circumstance appear less
improbable, the _Mémoires de Perse_ represent Vermandois as fiery,
haughty, and unsubmissive to a brother who would one day be his king,
whereas the most unexceptionable testimony[129] establishes the fact
that he was mild, affable, full of deference, and only anxious to
acquire glory. The author of these _Mémoires_, in order to render a
dispute between the two brothers more plausible, asserts, in addition,
that they were of the same age, instead of which there were six years
between them; and, at the period when this passionate act is ascribed
to him, Vermandois was barely sixteen, while the Dauphin was already
the father of the Duke de Bourgogne.

There remains his premature death. Tacitus has said that when princes
or extraordinary men die young, one finds it difficult to believe that
they have been carried off by a natural course. This remark applies
with justice to all epochs, and in our annals how many crimes are
there, imagined by popular passion and credited through the ignorance
of the time, of which a healthy criticism, aided by the progress of
medical science,[130] has in our days acquitted the pretended authors?
Is there, in the last moments of Vermandois and in the transport of
his remains to Arras, where he was buried, the smallest circumstance
that can allow the most credulous mind to retain a single doubt, and to
suppose that he left the camp of Courtray alive to be confided to the
guardianship of Saint-Mars?

On November 6, 1683, the Count de Vermandois takes to his bed at
Courtray. Ill for several days before, he has concealed his condition
in order not to quit the army, and to be able to assist at the attack
on the faubourg of Menin, where he displayed the highest courage.

Consumed by fever, he is at length compelled to separate from the first
_corps-d’armée_, which is about to form the camp of Harlebeck. Marshal
d’Humières had had the intention of causing him to be transported
to Lille, and with this object had already made arrangements with
the Marquis de Montchevreuil.[131] But a speedy aggravation of the
invalid’s condition hinders the execution of this project. On the 8th
bleeding relieves him;[132] but, on the 12th, Marshal d’Humières writes
to Louvois that there are grounds for considerable uneasiness.[133] On
the 13th Boufflers writes to the court that, the head of Vermandois
commencing to be affected by the disease, bleeding from the feet has
become necessary.[134] On the 14th Marshal d’Humières, who had come
to Courtray from the camp of Rousselaer, of which he is commander,
finds Vermandois at the worst, the doctors very undecided, “and not
daring to resort to extreme remedies.” They determine to try them,
however, but, doubtless, too late; for, after a tolerably favourable
day, during which the fever seemed to diminish and the brain to become
clearer, a violent agitation ensues, abundant perspiration exhausts the
patient,[135] and, on the 16th, Boufflers announces that Vermandois
has just received the last communion,[136] and that there is no longer
any hope except in his youth. At the moment that he was writing this
letter, Madame de Maintenon wrote to Madame de Brinon:[137] “M. de
Vermandois is very ill; have our great saint prayed to for him.”
Vain hope, useless prayers! On November 18 the son of La Vallière
died of a malignant fever, surrounded by Marshal d’Humières, whom
he had begged to remain near him, the Marquis de Montchevreuil, and
Lieutenant-General Boufflers.[138] In the camp the grief was general,
and the troops wept for him, for the good which he had done and the
great things he had promised. At the court the impressions were
various. The Hôtel de Condé deeply regretted this death, because the
Prince was betrothed to Mademoiselle de Bourbon. The Princess de Conti,
sister to Vermandois, was inconsolable.[139]

Louis XIV., much more sensitive than tender, and whose grief relieved
itself all at once in a flood of tears which was of very short
duration, had, moreover, already shown in favour of the children he
had had by Madame de Montespan a sentiment of predilection which was
to survive their mother’s disgrace, and which Madame de Maintenon,
their former governess, carefully cherished. As to Mademoiselle de la
Vallière, Voltaire has said,[140] and it has been often repeated after
him, that she exclaimed on learning the fatal news: “It is not his
death that I should lament, but his birth.” This exclamation is not
true; it is not that of a mother. That the pious Carmelite offered as
a sacrifice this new blow that smote her, that she accepted it as an
additional expiation for her faults, one may admit. But that her tears
only flowed because she had brought Vermandois into the world, that, at
the announcement of the most painful of afflictions, she was so little
crushed by it as to be able to utter such words, is what no mother
will believe. How much more acceptable is that testimony which Madame
de Sevigné bears in saying “that she perfectly tempered her maternal
love with that of the spouse of Jesus Christ.” “Mademoiselle de la
Vallière is all day at the foot of the crucifix,” says the Présidente
d’Osembray[141] on December 22. This is the true language of two
mothers speaking of another mother who had just lost her son.

Pompous obsequies were performed over the remains of the son of Louis
XIV. On November 21, the King sent word to the Chapter of Arras that
the body of the Count de Vermandois would be transported to that town
and buried in the choir of its cathedral church.[142] On the 24th, the
mayors and échevins, bearing wax tapers, proceed to the Méaulens Gate,
where are already assembled the governors of the town and citadel, all
the officers of the staff, the clergy of the different parishes, and
the friars of the mendicant orders. The infantry line the road from the
entrance of the town to the cathedral.[143] At noon the roar of cannon
and the tolling of bells announces the arrival of the remains, which
are contained in a coach hung with black cloth, and escorted by the
cavalry of the garrison. The Bishop of Arras, clothed in his pontifical
robes, and his chapter, advance in procession and receive the body,
which, removed from the coach, is borne by canons, and followed by the
officers of the Council of Artois, those of the bailiwick, and all the
other dignitaries of the county. Until Saturday the 27th, the day fixed
for the solemn service, masses were said without intermission from six
o’clock till noon in the Chapel of Saint-Vaast, where the body had been
placed, and the canons and chaplains succeeded each other in praying
there, the first during the day, the others during the night.[144]
They selected, in the middle of the choir of the cathedral, in the
place of “the angel,” the spot that appeared most distinguished for
the inhumation, for, five hundred years before, it had served for the
interment of Isabelle de Vermandois, wife of Philip d’Alsace, Count
of Flanders, and descendant in the direct line of Henri I., King of
France. The last ceremony was worthy, in its pomp and splendour, of
the King who had commanded it, and of the Prince in whose honour it
was performed. The choir and the nave of the cathedral, entirely hung
with black velvet, upon which shone silver escutcheons emblazoned with
the arms of Vermandois, the lugubrious harmony of the service, the
funereal light of the tapers, the sad and silent troops, the spectators
all clothed in mourning, and, still more than these external signs, a
sincere grief manifesting itself, especially amongst the gentlemen of
the Prince’s suite, in tears and sobs; such is the spectacle that the
interior of the cathedral church of Arras presents on November 27, 1683.

The evidences of the King’s piety, and of the eagerness of the Chapter
to satisfy it, did not end here. On January 24, 1684, M. Chauvelin,
Intendant of the province, drew up with the Chapter, in the name of
Louis XIV., a deed in which it was stipulated “that the prelate, dean,
and canons should say every day, each in his turn and during the
year following the inhumation, a low requiem mass in the _chapelle
ardente_,[145] prepared and hung with mourning for this purpose; that
on the 18th November of every year, or in case of hindrance on another
day near that date, there should be celebrated in perpetuity in their
church a solemn service, preceded by vigils of nine psalms and nine
lessons; that the Chapter should distribute annually to fifty poor
people, who were to be present at these offices, five sols each, and an
eight-pounds loaf; that there should also be given every year by the
Chapter on the day of the service, to the poor _Clairisses_[146] of the
city of Arras, a sum of six livres, in order that their community might
pray for the soul of the Count de Vermandois, and that all the bells
should be tolled on the day, and on the evening before, as is customary
at the obits of the bishops.” In order to indemnify the Chapter for the
expenditure imposed by him, Louis XIV. bestowed upon it, in addition to
magnificent presents, a sum of 10,000 livres, which served to purchase
at the village of La Coutaie, near Béthune, a farm, since then, and
for that cause, known as the Ferme de Vermandois. Until the year 1789,
the stipulations contained in this deed were faithfully executed,
and, during more than a century, November 25 witnessed a renewal of
the alms of the Chapter, the prayers of the clergy, the assemblage of
all the magistrates and municipal officers, and, in this manner, the
remembrance of the son of La Vallière.

In supposing that Vermandois could have given way to such a violent and
hasty act towards the Dauphin, without the proof of it being handed
down to us; that Louis XIV. was cruel enough to condemn a beloved
son to perpetual imprisonment; and, finally, that it was possible to
keep his abduction secret in the midst of the troops, how can we
possibly admit that ceremonies, which the pious monarch always regarded
as sacred, could have been ordered by him to deceive his subjects
and take advantage of their credulity? How can we admit that this
illness, of which we have traced all the phases, was feigned; that the
despatches that have been analysed were false; that Louis XIV. had for
the accomplices of his stratagem men such as the Lieutenant-General
Boufflers, Marshal d’Humières, and the Marquis de Montchevreuil; that,
not content with making them take part in such a singular project, he
made a mockery of religion the better to mask it? How can we admit
that this bier, round which prayers ascended and tears flowed, was
empty,[147] and that the Prince, of whom pompous epitaphs vaunt the
qualities, was then in rigorous confinement at Pignerol? Finally, how
explain, if not as the testimony of his sincere piety and affection,
this solemn service, founded in perpetuity by Louis XIV., and which,
in prolonging it, would have aggravated an impious derision, and
perpetuated the memory of a profane fraud?


FOOTNOTES:

[117] In the preceding chapters we have made no mention of a _Mémoire
de M. de Saint-Mars sur la Naissance de l’Homme au Masque de Fer_,
published in vol. iii. of the _Mémoires de Tous_ (Levasseur, 1835,
8vo). According to this document, “copied by M. Billiard from the
Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,” M. de Saint-Mars had
been the governor of the mysterious son of Anne of Austria, whose
high origin was carefully hidden from him. But this brother of Louis
XIV. having discovered it, was sent to the Isles Sainte-Marguerite,
the command of which was then (in 1687) confided to his governor. If
we have not spoken of this document, it is because its authenticity
has already been completely disproved. It is nothing else than a copy
of the apocryphal narrative of Soulavie, which we have transcribed
and refuted in the first part of our work (see page 15). The author
of this copy has contented himself with substituting Saint-Mars for
the “anonymous governor of the unfortunate prince.” He did not think
that he thereby added a fresh impossibility to those contained in
the narrative of Soulavie. For how could Saint-Mars, before 1687,
have been the governor of a brother of Louis XIV., when a hundred
despatches establish the fact that, from 1664, he was successively
governor of the donjon of Pignerol and of Exiles? As to the presence
of this document in the Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,
there is no reason for astonishment. It is explained, like the presence
of so many other documents in our archives, by the seizure of the
papers of great personages after their deaths, or, more commonly, by
having been transmitted by some ambassador inhabiting the country
in which these apocryphal writings circulated freely. But the place
where they are found gives them no authenticity. At all periods, and
to-day even, ambassadors send to the Government copies of anonymous
memoirs, pamphlets, and different papers, which remain joined to
their despatches, but to which no historical value can be ascribed.
It has been the same with this pretended _Mémoire de Saint-Mars_, of
which, in addition, a mere perusal demonstrates the untruth to any
one acquainted with the usual style of the illiterate governor of the
Isles Sainte-Marguerite. One sometimes hears it related--and this fact
has been repeated to ourselves--that a great personage of a former
Government introduced one of his friends, with much precaution, into
the galleries of the Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and
there showed him a document which contained the secret of the Man with
the Iron Mask. It is doubtless the document attributed to Saint-Mars
that is referred to in this anecdote.

[118] Letter of Madame la Présidente d’Osembray to Bussy-Rabutin, dated
December 22, 1683:--_Lettres de Roger de Rabutin, Comte de Bussy_, vol.
vi. p. 135, edition of 1716. Testimony of Lauzun in the _Mémoires de
Mademoiselle de Montpensier_, vol. vii. pp. 90, 92.

[119] That of High Admiral. See amongst the papers of Colbert, MSS.
of the Imperial Library, a curious memorandum drawn up by him, “to
know what name and title it is necessary to give to M. le Comte de
Vermandois.” Vermandois was endowed on November 12, 1669, at the age of
twenty-two months, with this office of High Admiral of France, which,
suppressed in 1626 by Richelieu, and changed by him into the office
of “Grand Master, Chief, and General Superintendent of the Navigation
and Commerce of France,” had been held successively by the Cardinal
himself; his nephew Armand de Maillé-Brézé, Duke de Fronsac; Anne of
Austria; César, Duke de Vendôme; and his son François de Vendôme, Duke
de Beaufort.

[120] Letter of the Présidente d’Osembray, already cited.

[121] Published by the Compagnie des Libraires Associés (Company of
Associated Booksellers) in 12mo.

[122] _Mémoires Secrets pour servir à l’Histoire de Perse._

[123] The academy here mentioned is not the present French Academy, but
a kind of gymnasium, where the nobles met to learn riding, fencing,
dancing, &c. It is frequently referred to in the memoirs of the
time.--_Trans._

[124] _Mémoires de Mademoiselle de Montpensier_, vol. vii. p. 91.

[125] We shall see, in the course of this work, that they succeeded in
securing at least a portion of this enormous fortune, thanks to the
imprisonment of Lauzun, the husband of Mademoiselle de Montpensier.

[126] _Mémoires_ already cited, vol. vii. p. 92.

[127] Such as Lauzun, who was present at the siege of Courtray, and the
Présidente d’Osembray.--See _Lettres de Bussy-Rabutin_, already cited,
vol. vi. p. 13.

[128] Dated November 4, 1683. The King to the Marquis de Montchevreuil.
“Monsieur le Marquis de Montchevreuil--I have received the letter which
you wrote to me from the camp of Courtray. I am very well pleased with
what you tell me of my son, the Count de Vermandois. But I am not the
less uneasy, as the Sieur d’Aquin has told me that the fever has become
continuous. You have done well to take him to Lille” (we shall see that
they did not have the time to remove him to Lille); “he may remain
there as long as may be needful for his health; but as soon as it
allows him to travel I shall be pleased at his returning here. Having
nothing else to add, except that I am always very well pleased at your
conduct, I pray God to take you, Monsieur le Marquis de Montchevreuil,
into his holy keeping.--LOUIS.”

[129] See _ante_, p. 67.

[130] See, amongst others, the excellent work of M. Jules Loiseleur,
_Problèmes Historiques_; the review, _La Philosophie Positive_, of M.
Littré; the fourth volume of the _Histoire de Louvois_, of M. Camille
Rousset, already cited; the very curious appendices given by M. Chéruel
at the end of each volume of his fine edition of the _Mémoires de
Saint-Simon_, &c.

[131] Archives of the Ministry of War; Letter from Marshal d’Humières
to Louvois, “Camp of Courtray, November 7, 1683.”

[132] _Ibid._ Marshal d’Humières to Louvois, “Camp of Harlebeck,
November 8, 1683.”

[133] _Ibid._ D’Humières to Louvois, “Camp of Rousselaer, November 12,
1683.”

[134] _Ibid._ Boufflers to Louvois, “Courtray, November 13, 1683.”

[135] _Ibid._ D’Humières to Louvois, “Courtray, November 14, 15, 1683,”
and Boufflers to Louvois, “Courtray, November 15, 1683.”

[136] _Ibid._ Boufflers to Louvois, “Courtray, November 16, 1683.”

[137] Letter from Madame de Maintenon to Madame de Brinon, of November
15, 1683.

[138] Archives of the Ministry of War; Boufflers to Louvois, “Courtray,
November 19, 1683.”

[139] Letter of Madame d’Osembray, December 22, 1683.

[140] _Siècle de Louis XIV._

[141] _Lettres de Bussy-Rabutin_, vol. vi. p. 135.

[142] The letter which we extract is from a learned article of Baron
de Hautecloque, ex-mayor of Arras, published in the _Chroniques
Artésiennes_ of M. P. Roger, member of the Society of Antiquarians of
Picardy; of the Count d’Allonville, Councillor of State, and of M.
Dusevel, Inspector of Historical Monuments for the Department of the
Somme:--

“Very dear and well-beloved--Having learnt with very sensible sorrow,
that our very dear and well-beloved son, the _Duke_ de Vermandois,[A]
Admiral of France, has lately died in the town of Courtray in Flanders,
and desiring him to be placed in the cathedral church of our town of
Arras, we send word to the Sieur Bishop of Arras to receive the body
of our said son, when it is brought to the said church, and to have it
buried in the choir of the said church with the ceremonies observed at
the burial of persons of his birth.

 [A] This title may appear singular, but an old and curious book “_Les
 Estats de France_,” which contains the genealogies of all the nobles of
 this period, describes him as “the Count de Vermandois, _duke_ and peer
 of France.”--_Trans._

“All of which we have desired to make known to you by this letter, and
to state that our intention is that you should conform to our will in
this and assist in a body at this ceremony as is customary, on such
occasions; and assuring ourselves that you will satisfy us in this, we
do not make this present letter longer or more express; do not fail;
for such is our pleasure.

“Given at Versailles, the xix[B] November, 1683. Signed, “LOUIS,” and
lower down, “LE TELLIER.”

 [B] We think, with M. de Hautecloque, that this date should be the
 21st. In the registers of the chapter it is in Roman figures, and there
 is reason to suppose that a clumsy copyist has inverted the order
 of them and put xix for xxi. The comparison of dates and the very
 expressions of the King’s letter indicate it sufficiently.

[143] Register of the Hôtel de Ville of Arras and of the Chapter.

[144] _Ibid._

[145] [Chapel in which a dead person lies in state.--_Trans._] The
cathedral in which Vermandois was interred no longer exists. Devastated
and greatly mutilated during the revolutionary period, it was almost in
ruins, and was later completely demolished. The Church of Saint-Nicolas
was built upon the site which it occupied in that part of Arras styled
the Cité, formerly completely distinct from the town properly so
called. The Chapel of Saint-Vaast, in which the body of Vermandois was
first deposited, formed part of the Abbey of Saint-Vaast. This chapel
is the present cathedral of Arras.

[146] Nuns of the order of Sainte-Claire.--_Trans._

[147] In 1786, Louis XVI., moved with the rumour referring to this
supposition, ordered the coffin to be opened. A _procès-verbal_
drawn up December 16, 1786, in the presence of the Bishop of Arras,
the provost of the cathedral, the head of the vestry, and the
procureur-général, verified the existence “of an entire and well-shaped
body.” See the very interesting _Vie de Madame Elizabeth_, of M. de
Beauchesne, vol. i. p. 543. To this decisive proof we have felt bound
to add others for those who might be tempted to believe that another
body than that of Vermandois had been enclosed in the coffin.




                             CHAPTER VII.

 Causes which render the Theory probable that makes Monmouth the Man
 with the Iron Mask--Political Position of Monmouth--His Portrait--He
 is persuaded to revolt against his Uncle James II.--He lands near Lyme
 Regis--His first Successes--Enthusiasm with which he is received--His
 premature Discouragement--His Defeat at Sedgemoor--His shameful
 Flight--He is captured and taken to London--Cowardly Terrors of the
 Prisoner--His Interview with James II.


“It has been asserted,” says M. de Sévelinges, in an article of the
_Biographie Universelle_,[148] “that the famous Man with the Iron
Mask was no other than the Duke of Monmouth. Of all the conjectures
that have been made upon this subject, it is perhaps one of the
least unreasonable.” M. de Sévelinges says truly that in favour of
this candidate for the honour of being the Man with the Iron Mask,
if we cannot invoke one of those decisive proofs which enforce
conviction, there are at least several indications which seem to unite
in designating him, and in forming what the English call cumulative
evidence. The greatness of the crime to be punished, the powerful
interest there was to effect the disappearance of this leader of
revolt, and carry him off for ever from his partisans, the persistent
incredulity of the people respecting his death, his near relationship
to James II., which renders the penalty of perpetual imprisonment
more probable than that of death, are so many circumstances which, in
certain respects, justify the opinion put forth in the last century by
Saint-Foix, and explain the obstinacy of this publicist in defending it.

Monmouth is one of those historical personages who have been very
variously, and in some degree contradictorily, appreciated. Placed
at the head of a party which, from the first days of the reign of
James II., sought to overthrow a king who remained a Catholic in the
midst of a nation almost entirely Protestant; having attempted in
1685 a revolution which, three years later, was to be accomplished
with perfect success by a prince better endowed and much more apt in
playing this great part, Monmouth has incurred the blind enmity of
the Catholics, and met with excessive praise from their adversaries.
Unjustly vilified by the one party, insulted beyond measure by the
other, he has been represented on the one side as an adventurer
devoid of all qualities, and rashly engaging against his uncle in a
mad enterprise fatally condemned to insuccess. Others have seen in
him the glorious defender of the interests of the Anglican religion,
threatened by the sovereign, the worthy precursor of William of Orange,
the champion of the true faith, whose failure is to be ascribed to
unforeseen circumstances and the incapacity of his lieutenants. The
same contradiction that exists in the judgments passed upon his attempt
is to be found in the opinions given by his biographers as to his
origin. Whilst some deny that he was the natural son of Charles II.,
and give us to understand that Lucy Walters was already pregnant with
him when she became the mistress of the exiled Stuart, others are
inclined to see in Monmouth his legitimate offspring, the issue of a
regular marriage contracted during his exile by a king deprived of his
crown, very thoughtless, and madly in love. As always is the case, the
truth lies between these two extremes of disparagement and favour.
Charles II. constantly showed the love of a father for Monmouth; but if
a marriage had united him to Lucy Walters, the proofs would not have
remained hidden in the famous “black box” in which Monmouth’s friends
supposed them to be. Brought to light, they would have allowed Charles
II., deprived of other legitimate descendants, to indulge his fondness
for a son, an accomplished gentleman, and already the object at
Whitehall of several distinctions reserved only for royal princes,[149]
and to whom only legitimacy was wanting for him to be universally
received as the heir-presumptive to the throne. During his father’s
reign he enjoyed, in fact, a popularity which not even great defects
had been able to compromise, and which the hatred inspired by the Duke
of York increased. People detected in the latter a future king entirely
devoted to the Papists, and loved still more in Monmouth a prince of
engaging and courteous manner, distinguished without haughtiness,
sometimes familiar, but without lowering himself, less effeminate
in his manners than his royal father,[150] and whose libertinage,
fiery character, and acts of violence, were pardoned in remembrance
of his brilliant military exploits, in consideration of his past, and
the hopes that were based upon him. But the position at which he had
arrived was far above his merits. His birth and the attractions of his
person had raised him to it. As long as his father lived he maintained
himself in it, supported by the interested affection of the Whigs,
and never having to display any qualities but those he was liberally
endowed with. When, at the death of Charles II., it was necessary for
him to exhibit not only the gifts which had made him the idol of the
people, but the talents requisite to accomplish a revolution, and
to seize upon a crown, the mediocrity of his faculties soon became
apparent. Intrepid upon the field of battle, he lacked decision in
the council, and wavered irresolute between contrary suggestions. His
natural kindness, which had won him the love of the people, sometimes
degenerated into weakness. Of a very malleable disposition, he yielded
too easily to the influence of others, and was often only the executant
of their will. His ardour in action, above all, arose from the contact
of those surrounding him. He hardly ever derived it from his own
powers, and, left to himself, he readily sank into indolence. When he
learnt in Holland the accession of James II., which closed England to
him, he could form no manly resolution, and forgot[151] in the company
of a loved woman[152] that he was the hope of a numerous party, the
support of a great cause, the pretender to a throne. This inaction
had its source in his carelessness and in his indolence of mind, much
more than in a taste for obscurity; for he did not long resist the
prayers of his friends when they came to drag him from his retreat and
arm him against James II.,[153] and not having had sufficient energy
to conceive the enterprise himself, he equally lacked the resolution
to object to it. Such was the man whose coming a notable part of the
English nation longed for, who was about to shake a throne, but without
succeeding in overthrowing it; because he had neither the profound
views nor the persevering audacity with which great ambitions ripen and
execute their projects.

On June 11, 1685, Monmouth, accompanied by eighty men well armed,
landed on the coast of Dorsetshire, near the little port of Lyme. The
result of this expedition is a matter of history. There is no need
to recount the triumphant march to Taunton, the enthusiasm of the
West, the fatal field of Sedgemoor, and the ignominious flight of the
leader of the insurgents.[154] Some days afterwards a man in tattered
garments, with haggard face and hair prematurely white, is dragged
from a ditch, at the bottom of which he was crouching, half hidden by
the long grass and nettles, trembling and livid with fear, his pockets
filled with peas gathered to satisfy the cravings of ravenous hunger.
It was the darling of Charles’s court, the hero of Bothwell Brig, “King
Monmouth.”

Finding himself in the power of a monarch whom he had come to
overthrow, whose real faults he had not only pointed out, but whom he
had also calumniated by accusations as infamous as unmerited, Monmouth
did not understand that he was lost, and that James II., always
inexorable, would not feel for his most cruel enemy a pity that was
unknown to him. Self-respect and his own dignity should have prohibited
the vanquished from appealing to the clemency of his conqueror, even
had this clemency been at all probable. But mere reason indicated that
to ask mercy of James II. would only be a useless abasement, and that
there was nothing left but to prepare for death. Monmouth had neither
the courage nor the wisdom to reject the thought of an unavailing
humiliation. He wrote to James II. in the most abject terms.[155] His
letter was that of a man crushed by the approach of death, and who
sacrifices to the desire of living his past, his honour, those whom he
had sought to gain over without succeeding, as well as the partisans
whom he had conducted to their ruin. This was not all: no longer
able to arrest himself in his ignominious descent, he desired to see
James II., and the latter was sufficiently inhuman to consent to an
interview, which it was his unalterable will should remain sterile.
Not to spare such an enemy was justified to a certain extent by the
violence of his attacks; but to admit him to his presence without
pardoning him was a refinement of vengeance and harshness. He enjoyed
the barbarous pleasure of seeing his redoubtable adversary confounded,
falling at his feet, embracing his knees, shedding bitter tears, vainly
trying to hold out his fettered hands to him, acknowledging and cursing
his crime, offering to abjure his religion, and become a Catholic,[156]
beseeching pardon, pardon at any price. To this eagerness for life, to
these supplications James II. only opposed silence, and turning away
his head he terminated an interview, in which we hardly know whether
to feel most indignant at the cold cruelty of the conqueror or at the
degrading terror and cowardly humiliation of the vanquished.

It is at this moment that Saint-Foix, introducing Monmouth into this
problem, gives him Louis XIV. for a guardian, Saint-Mars for a gaoler,
and the prison of Pignerol for a residence.


FOOTNOTES:

[148] _Biographie Universelle_ of Michaud, article “Monmouth.”

[149] He resided in the King’s palace, had pages, and when he travelled
was everywhere received like a prince. Charles II. created him
successively Earl of Orkney, Knight of the Garter, and Duke of Monmouth.

[150] Grammont says of Monmouth in his _Mémoires:_ “His face and the
graces of his person were such that Nature has perhaps never formed
any more accomplished. His countenance was perfectly charming. It was
the face of a man; nothing insipid, nothing effeminate about it. Every
feature had its attraction and its especial delicacy. A marvellous
inclination for all kinds of exercises, an engaging manner, an air of
grandeur--in short, all bodily advantages pleaded in his favour; but he
had no sentiment except such as was inspired by others.”

[151] Letter from Monmouth to James, dated from Ringwode, quoted by
Macaulay, _Histoire d’Angleterre depuis l’Avénement de Jacques II._,
translation of M. de Peyronnet, vol. i. p. 398.

[152] Lady Henrietta Wentworth.--_Trans._

[153] Burnet, vol. i. p. 630.

[154] M. Topin’s narrative has been here condensed, as it was hardly
necessary to repeat to English readers the well-known story of
Monmouth’s futile enterprise, more especially as it has no kind of
bearing on the point as to whether he was or was not the Man with the
Iron Mask.--_Trans._

[155] _Original Letters_ of Sir H. Ellis; Newspapers of the period;
Despatch of the French Ambassador Barillon, July 13, 1685.

[156] Letter of James II. to the Prince of Orange, July 14, 1685; _Sir
J. Bramston’s Memoirs_, related by Macaulay; Burnet, vol. i. p. 644.




                             CHAPTER VIII.

 Bases on which Saint-Foix has founded his Theory--Disputes of
 Saint-Foix and Father Griffet--The Recollection of Monmouth becomes
 Legendary in England--Ballads announcing his Return--Indisputable
 Proofs of Monmouth’s Death in 1685--Interview of Monmouth with his
 Wife and Children--He is conducted to the Scaffold--His Firmness--The
 Last Words which he utters--Awkwardness of the Executioner.


In an anonymous libel, published in Holland under the title of _Amours
de Charles II. et de Jacques II., Rois d’Angleterre_, we read “that
in 1688, a few days after the departure from London of King James
II., overthrown by William of Orange, Earl Danby sent to seek Colonel
Skelton, who had formerly been Lieutenant of the Tower, which post the
Prince of Orange had taken away from him, in order to give it to Lord
Lucas. ‘Mr. Skelton,’ said Earl Danby to him, ‘yesterday, when supping
with Robert Johnston, you told him that the Duke of Monmouth was alive,
and that he was imprisoned in some castle in England.’ ‘I have not said
that he was alive, and imprisoned in any castle, since I know nothing
about it,’ answered Skelton; ‘but I have said that the night after the
Duke of Monmouth’s pretended execution, the King, accompanied by three
men, came to remove him from the Tower; that they covered his head
with a kind of hood, and that the King and the three men entered a
carriage with him.’”[157]

With the exception of this story, in the exactitude of which Saint-Foix
himself has not very great confidence, since he says, “These are
books whose authors seek only to amuse those who read them,”[158] he
invokes for the establishment of his theory merely vague conversations,
confused reports which he has collected, and the testimony of public
rumour. “A surgeon,” he tells us, “named Nélaton, who was in the
habit of going every morning to the Café Procope, related there
several times, that when first assistant to a surgeon near the Porte
Saint-Antoine, he was sent for one day to bleed a person, and that he
was taken to the Bastille, where the governor introduced him into the
chamber of a prisoner, who had his head covered with a long napkin,
tied behind the neck; that this prisoner complained of bad headaches;
that his dressing-gown was yellow and black, with large gold flowers;
and that from his accent he recognized him to be English.” “Father
Tournemine,” adds Saint-Foix,[159] “has often repeated to me that,
having gone to pay a visit to the Duchess of Portsmouth with Father
Sanders, formerly King James’s confessor, she had said to them, in
a succession of conversations, that she should always reproach that
Prince’s memory with the execution of the Duke of Monmouth, after
Charles II., in the hour of death, and ready to communicate, had made
him promise, in the presence of the host, which Huldeston, a Catholic
priest, had secretly brought in, that, whatever rebellion the Duke of
Monmouth might attempt, he would never have him punished with death.
‘Nor did he do so,’ replied Father Sanders, with animation.” In order
to explain how Monmouth could have been carried off alive, and how the
people were deceived by this sham execution, Saint-Foix furnishes a
proof not a whit less uncertain than the preceding. “It was reported
about London,” he says, “that an officer of his army, who closely
resembled him, being made prisoner, and certain of being condemned to
death, had received the proposal to personate him with as much joy
as if he had been accorded life, and that, on this being reported
abroad, a great lady, having gained over those who could open his
coffin, and having looked at his right arm, exclaimed, ‘Ah! this is not
Monmouth!’”[160]

Slight as was the basis of this theory, it must be admitted that
Father Griffet combated it with very inconclusive arguments, and that
Saint-Foix had no great difficulty in refuting him in his turn. To the
objection founded upon the uselessness of always leaving in mystery
the name of the prisoner who died in 1703, when both James II. and
William of Orange had also ceased to live, Saint-Foix replied, very
judiciously, that Louis XIV. might have consented to guard Monmouth
at Pignerol, both in order to oblige James II., his ally, and to have
in his power a Stuart, whom he might one day be able to oppose to
the ambition of William of Orange, if James II. continued to remain
childless; but that the unexpected birth of a Prince of Wales[161]
having rendered this piece of foresight useless, it was natural that
Louis XIV. would not wish it known that he had constituted himself
the gaoler of an English prince. “It was very likely indeed,” added
Saint-Foix,[162] “that the partisans of William of Orange having
published that this Prince of Wales was a supposititious child, would
not have failed to say that since means had been found to represent
on the scaffold and behead one man in place of another, it was much
easier to feign a pregnancy and a confinement.” Now Louis XIV., who
had continued to support the exiled Stuarts with sufficient obstinacy
to imprudently recognize this Prince of Wales under the title of James
III.,[163] was bound to prevent a revelation of a nature to confirm
the injurious doubts which had arisen at the period of this Prince’s
birth.[164]

The necessity for the mystery being thus justified by the pride
and self-interest of Louis XIV., Saint-Foix refuted Father Griffet
not less cleverly on the point of the substitution of an unknown
individual for Monmouth about to die on the scaffold. Reproached with
its improbability, he answered that this generosity was very easy to
comprehend--that such an act of devotion had scarcely any merit in
an officer of Monmouth’s army, condemned, like the latter, to death,
and who was sacrificing to his old general, not his life, but simply
his name. Finally, a comparative examination of several circumstances
connected with the execution, ingeniously touched upon and grouped
together, such as the choice of the bishops attending the condemned,
the few words that he uttered, the look of reproach which he gave the
executioner, who did not kill him at the first blow of the axe,[165]
finished by convincing Saint-Foix.

Moreover, Saint-Foix’s error was also that of a portion of the English
nation, who, through idolizing Monmouth, came to disbelieve in the fact
of his death, just as Saint-Foix did through attachment to his theory.
The popular affection survived even the generation who had espoused his
cause;[166] and the hero, adorned with all the seductive qualities that
had made him the idol of the people, and clothed by time with qualities
which he the least[167] possessed, speedily became a legendary
character. In Dorsetshire and the neighbouring counties, many, during
the remainder of their lives, cherished the hope of seeing him again;
and for very many years, on the occasion of any important event, the
old men used confidently to announce in whispers that the time was
approaching when King Monmouth would reappear. Several ballads foretold
this return:--[168]

  “Though this is a dismal story
    Of the fall of my design,
  Yet I’ll come again in glory,
    If I live till eighty-nine;
  For I’ll have a stronger army,
    And of ammunition store.”

Again--

  “Then shall Monmouth in his glories
    Unto his English friends appear,
  And will stifle all such stories
    As are vended everywhere.

  They’ll see I was not so degraded,
    To be taken gathering pease,
  Or in a cock of hay up braided.
    What strange stories now are these!”

In many poor families trifling objects which had belonged to him
have been preserved as precious relics even to our own days, and two
impostors having on different occasions travelled about the country
under the name of Monmouth, found everywhere among the lower orders
the most cordial reception, as well as encouragement, assistance, and
evidence of the most touching and constant affection.

How much more would this adoration, of which Monmouth had rendered
himself unworthy by his flight, have nevertheless embellished his
memory, and, without absolving him, have made of him a legendary hero;
how much more striking still would it have appeared, if, as Saint-Foix
believed, he of whom the poets sang in their ballads, of whom the
peasants talked by their firesides in the evening, and whose speedy
return the people were awaiting, had been, at that very instant,
confined in a prison in the remotest parts of the Alps, his face hidden
from the gaze of man, unknown to all save a gaoler as rigorous as he
was incorruptible? When the stage took possession of the subject of
the Man with the Iron Mask, it preferred to adopt the version which
makes him a brother of Louis XIV., as being the most interesting one.
The supposition that Monmouth was the Man with the Iron Mask would
have been much more dramatic, because, while in some points touching
upon reality, it would, on the one hand, have allowed of representing
a whole nation plunged in grief and filled with expectation, and on
the other, the conquered of Sedgemoor following Saint-Mars from prison
to prison, and after having almost attained a throne, being obscurely
interred in the evening by two turnkeys of the Bastille!

But however thrilling this accumulation of misfortune would have
been, history cannot admit its truth. Whatever Saint-Foix may have
thought--whatever the English common people may have believed--Monmouth
died on the scaffold, July 15, 1685. Authentic despatches, signed
by Louis XIV.’s ambassador,[169] furnish proof of it; and this
monarch, far from having been an accomplice, as has been said, of an
abduction of the Duke, and far from having consented to act as his
keeper, received day by day exact news of the early progress of his
revolt, and of his defeat, capture, and death. In these despatches,
penned by an impartial and perfectly independent witness, and which
appeared destined never to be divulged, there is nothing that allows
us to suppose that a pardon was granted, but we find in them instead
irrefragable proof of James II.’s inflexible severity. Almost to
his last moment Monmouth showed himself but little worthy of the
regret which he was to leave behind him. He saw his wife, but without
emotion, and thought only of again beseeching his life from the Earl of
Clarendon, who accompanied her. On the evening of Monday, July 14, he
learned that he would be led to death the next morning. At once turning
pale, he remained for a long time silent, and the first word that he
could utter was a demand for a respite. He repeated this in several
letters addressed to James II., as well as to the most considerable
persons of the court, and desired to see the King once more, a request
which was refused him.[170] When he had lost all hope he became
shamefully depressed: to agitation, and to the efforts exerted up to
that moment to save his life, succeeded a gloomy silence; to cowardly
fears, the dejection of despair. The next day his children were brought
to him; he blessed them, and bade them adieu, as well as his wife,
from whom he parted without sorrow.[171] For many years his affection
had been given to Lady Wentworth, whom he said was his wife before God,
whilst he had espoused Lady Monmouth when too young for the marriage
to be according to the spirit of God, although valid before the law.
During the hours which preceded his death, Lady Wentworth was the
constant object of his preoccupations, of his regrets, and of his most
lively solicitude. Sometimes he maintained that his long relations
with her had always been innocent, sometimes he gave out that he had
always considered her as his legitimate wife. Without doubt it was the
recollection of this noble and distinguished person, who loved him
tenderly, and who a few months afterwards was to follow him to the
tomb, that caused Monmouth to regain his feeling of dignity, till then
disregarded. He all at once became more firm; and at ten in the morning
entered the carriage of the Lieutenant of the Tower with a courage
worthy of his race and of the woman who had inspired it in him.

The open space where the scaffold was erected, all the streets leading
to it, and the roofs of the neighbouring houses were covered with a
multitude, who showed its disapprobation by a silence broken only by
sighs and sobs. Every eye was fixed on Monmouth, who, having smilingly
saluted the soldiers of the guard, was mounting with a firm foot the
steps of the scaffold. Every one awaits with anxiety his last words.
He pronounces them in a loud and distinct voice, and with the energy
of fanaticism. He finishes by saying, “That he has satisfied his
conscience, and that he dies in peace with God.” The Sheriff having
pressed him to declare before the people whether he died in the
faith of the English Church, he answered “Yes,” without hesitation;
and on the bishops who accompanied him observing that, according to
the principles of that church, he ought to obey his lawful king, he
replied, “There is no question of that now; I have nothing to say
about it.” Then he added, “that he had God’s pardon, and that he had
nothing to reproach himself with in reference to Lady Wentworth, for
whom he entertained as much esteem as affection.” The Sheriff having
represented to him the scandal which he had caused in Holland by living
publicly with this woman, and having asked him if he had married her,
“I am sorry for this scandal,” replied Monmouth, “but this is not
the time to answer your question.” The bishops afterwards conversed
with him about the consequences of his revolt, of the blood which he
had caused to be shed, and of so many companions led on by him to
their ruin. Affected by this language, Monmouth said in a low voice
that he agreed with them and that he regretted it. Next the bishops
present offered up fervent prayers, which the Prince listened to with
attention, and to each of which he answered, “Amen!” Then, addressing
the executioner, he gave him six guineas, earnestly begging him to
do his work quickly, and not to serve him like Lord Russell, whom he
had struck three or four times. After having assured himself that the
axe was sufficiently sharp, he refused to have his eyes bandaged, and
placed his head upon the block. The bishops continue their prayers. The
tears of the crowd flow fast. The executioner, probably troubled by the
fears which Monmouth had expressed, strikes the first blow unskilfully.
The victim lifts up his head; then, without uttering a word, replaces
it on the block. Three more blows are struck by the unsure hand of this
man, whom the yells and imprecations of the crowd cause to tremble. At
length, at the fifth blow, the head is separated from the body, and the
spectators rush upon the scaffold, some, in a state of fury, wishing to
punish the awkward executioner, others, with pious haste, desirous of
dipping their handkerchiefs in the blood of one whom they considered a
martyr.[172]


FOOTNOTES:

[157] _Amours de Charles II. et de Jacques II., Rois d’Angleterre._
First part, pp. 74, 75.

[158] _Réponse de M. de Saint-Foix au R.P. Griffet_, Paris. Ventes,
Libraire à la Montagne Sainte-Geneviève, 1770, p. 94.

[159] _Ibid._, p. 95 _et seq._

[160] _Réponse de M. de Saint-Foix au R. P. Griffet_, p. 96.

[161] Born, June 21, 1688, of James II. and Marie d’Este; recognized as
King by Louis XIV., November, 16 1701, on the death of James II.

[162] _Réponse de Saint-Foix au P. Griffet_, p. 118 _et seq._

[163] On the death of James II. This ill-timed boldness was one of
Louis XIV.’s gravest errors, and stirred up the English nation against
him. See our work _L’Europe et les Bourbons sous Louis XIV._, chap.
viii. p. 190.

[164] See Chap. iv. (p. 51 _ante_) of the present work, in which this
accusation of criminal fraud brought by William of Orange against his
father-in-law, James II., has already been considered.

[165] According to Saint-Foix, the bishops chosen were not acquainted
with Monmouth’s appearance, and the _pretended_ officer only uttered
a few words, while the look given by the victim after the third blow
of the axe was intended as a reproach to those who had promised that
he should die without pain. But these observations are more ingenious
than well-founded. Monmouth was accompanied to the scaffold by the
bishops who had visited him in prison, and we shall shortly see that
he said a good deal, that the execution took place at ten o’clock
in the morning, and that far from complaining even by a look of the
executioner’s unskilfulness, Monmouth bore his horrible punishment with
great resignation.

[166] _Observator_, August 1, 1685; _Gazette de France_, November
2, 1686; Letter of Humphrey Wanley, August 25, 1698, in the Aubrey
collection, given by Macaulay in his _History of England_.

[167] “If the Duke of Monmouth had been able to have concealed
himself or to have escaped, his last action had given him such a good
reputation amongst the English that he would have been able to have
drawn many persons towards him every time that he might have shown
himself to the people of England,” wrote the French ambassador to Louis
XIV., July 19, 1685:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,
section England, 155.

[168] They are to be found in the Pepsyan Collection, and have been
given by Macaulay in his _History of England_.

[169] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section England,
155; Despatches, June 23 and 28, and July 12, 19, 23, 25 and 26, 1685.

[170] Despatch from the French Ambassador, July 26, 1685: “He asked a
second time to speak to him, but it was not allowed.”

[171] Burnet, i. 645; Macaulay.

[172] Official despatches from the French Ambassador in England, July
15-25 and July 16-26, 1685.




                              CHAPTER IX.

 François de Vendôme, Duke de Beaufort--His Portrait--His Conduct
 during the War of the Fronde--Unimportance of this Individual--Motives
 cited by Lagrange-Chancel in support of his Theory--Their
 Improbability--Reasons which determined the Search for Proofs that
 leave no doubt of Beaufort’s Death at Candia.


Like Monmouth, a royal prince and the issue of an illegitimate
connection, François de Vendôme had, like Monmouth, the rare privilege
of being sufficiently beloved by the people for them, during a long
time, to have doubted of his death. Ten years after the expedition
to Candia, where he disappeared, the market-women were still in the
habit of having masses said, not for the repose of his soul, but for
the prompt return of his person;[173] and these persistent doubts
have caused Beaufort to be included, like Monmouth, among those
in whom people have beheld the mysterious prisoner of the Isles
Sainte-Marguerite.

But these are the only points of resemblance between Charles II.’s
natural son and Henri IV.’s grandson. Their characters, their
adventures, and their persons afford the most complete contrast, and
these two idols of the English and French peoples have owed their equal
popularity to entirely opposite qualities.

Brought up in the country, in the most absolute ignorance, and having
devoted his early years exclusively to the rude exercises of the
chase, Beaufort, during the whole of his life, retained from this
education of nature a coarse impress which made him the most really
original personage of the courts of Anne of Austria and of Louis XIV.
When, at the close of Louis XIII.’s reign, he appeared at the Louvre,
in that court which was as yet far from being the most polished of
Europe, he was not long in shocking even the least squeamish, and in
opposing himself to the most legitimate requirements. His athletic
strength, of which he willingly made a display, his characteristic and
expressive features, the intemperate animation of his gestures, his
affected habit of always keeping his hand on his hip, the tone of his
voice, everything to his moustaches even, curled up out of bravado,
contributed to give him the most provoking appearance. The rusticity
of his manners was equalled only by the coarseness of his speech. He
had not even received the usual education of the middle classes; and
wanting sufficient discernment to compensate by observation for his
complete ignorance, he would, when speaking, mix up in the strangest
manner possible hunting terms, which were very familiar to him,
with court expressions, which he used without hardly understanding
them.[174] Cynical by habit, affected through a desire of imitating
others, he had formed for himself a language “which,” the Cardinal de
Retz says, “would have spoilt even Cato’s good sense.”[175] This jargon
ended by rendering ridiculous one whose appearance alone was already
displeasing. But he took his revenge in the army, where these defects
were less apparent, and where he had opportunities for displaying his
manly qualities. Careless of every danger, and even of a reckless
courage, capable of enduring the most excessive fatigue, familiar with
all the exercises of the body, he ceased to make people laugh at him,
excited their admiration at the sieges of Corbie, Hesdin, and Arras,
and when he returned to the court, was preceded by a reputation for
bravery which rallied around him a portion of his detractors. People
shut their eyes to his eccentricities, and were better disposed to
appreciate his manly frankness and probity. Accordingly, when, on the
eve of Louis XIII.’s death, Anne of Austria was afraid lest the Duke
d’Orléans or the Prince de Condé should have the Dauphin and the Duke
d’Anjou carried off, it was to the custody of Beaufort, as “the most
honest man in France,”[176] that she confided her two sons.

Although at first proud of this flattering mark of distinction, he was
not long in forgetting it, and in throwing himself very thoughtlessly
into the enterprises of the Fronde, in which he made a sad enough
figure. Enticed by the Duchess de Montbazon to join the cabal of the
_Importants_,[177] brutal in his behaviour towards Mazarin, next
imprisoned at Vincennes,[178] allied with the Prince de Condé after
having been the enemy of his sister, the Duchess de Longueville, a
furious opponent of the court after having shown himself the guardian
of the throne and the protector of the Regent, by turns at the service
of the narrow passions and beggarly interests of the Dukes d’Elbœuf and
de Bouillon, of the Marshal de la Motte, and of the Cardinal de Retz,
without exactly knowing either for what cause he was fighting or what
aim he was pursuing, Beaufort withdrew from the Fronde as carelessly
as he had joined it, and became reconciled to the court with as little
gain to himself as he had obtained from the Frondeurs by his alliance
with them. To an incapacity for discerning what path he ought to
pursue in the midst of contending parties, Beaufort joined a dangerous
ignorance of his political nonentity, and like many persons who are
wanting in judgment, he endeavoured to rule by the force of qualities
in which he was most deficient. As vain as he was thoughtless,
believing himself called upon to play a great part,[179] he imagined
that he had an aptitude for public business, because he could talk its
cant; he delighted in giving advice to those who were leading him as
they chose; and, wronging his real qualities by those which he wished
to affect, he ended by exercising influence only over the multitude;
but with them he succeeded perfectly. If, in order to please one’s
subjects, it is necessary to speak their language, share their tastes,
adopt their manners, to be by turns abrupt and familiar, uncouth and
haughty, nobody has deserved more than Beaufort to be the “King of the
_halles_.” This title, which history has confirmed, his contemporaries
decreed to him unanimously, and the people accepted with enthusiasm. In
the streets they followed with love this good prince who had consented
to come and live near them in the most populous quarter, whose light
hair and martial bearing the women admired, and who did not disdain
occasionally to descant to the populace from a post, and sometimes to
display his strength in street quarrels.

But when Louis XIV. attained his majority, this king of the populace
became the most submissive of his subjects. Lagrange-Chancel, in order
to establish the theory which makes the Duke de Beaufort the Man with
the Iron Mask, and explain his pretended detention at Pignerol, speaks
“of his turbulent spirit, of the _rôle_ he had played in all the party
movements of the time of the Fronde.”[180] He adds that “his office of
High Admiral placed him daily in a position to thwart the great designs
of Colbert, charged with the department of the Marine.” Nothing can
be less exact, and in 1663, when Beaufort became High Admiral, the
passions, kindled during the Fronde, were extinguished, the ambitious
satisfied or quelled. The most turbulent chiefs, such as Rochefoucauld,
were plunged in an idleness which was scarcely menacing. Those who had
been the most hostile then made a display of their submission and
servility. Whilst the Cardinal de Retz, in retirement at Commercy, was
making up for his inaction and want of power by writing his immortal
Memoirs, the Prince de Conti was espousing the niece of Mazarin, and
Condé was gratefully receiving the order of the Holy Ghost from the
King.[181] The most indocile and most arrogant of the nobility, who
had disturbed the Regent’s authority, constrained the court to leave
Paris, sent away Mazarin, and agitated the whole kingdom, now crowded
the ante-chambers of Louis XIV. and disputed the signal honour of being
present when he retired to bed, and of holding a candlestick on the
occasion.

Beaufort was not the least assiduous in giving satisfaction to the
absolute monarch. Little formed for command, for which an extreme
impetuosity rendered him unsuited, he received very humbly the
severe reprimands of Louis XIV. and Colbert, and supported the yoke
of the master as docilely as he was harsh and imperious to his own
officers.[182] If he was always menacing the latter with ill-treatment
and with having them thrown into the sea, he submitted, in his naval
expeditions, to the control and almost to the rule of the Intendant
placed at his side by Colbert.[183] Nothing in him, then, was
dangerous to the court: neither his character, for his subordinates
alone experienced its violence; nor his talents, which were almost
nugatory; nor his pretensions, which had become very much reduced;
nor his popularity, which scarcely extended beyond the boundaries of
his kingdom of the _halles_. More than that, he had, in the eyes of
the King, the merit of belonging, through his father,[184] to those
illegitimate princes whom Louis XIV. was constantly to favour--at
first from political interest, with the view of opposing them to the
legitimate heirs of the great families; then from paternal affection,
when his own _amours_ had quickly increased their number--and to whom,
from a pride more and more immoderate, he was to accord successively
precedence over the peers, then the rank of royal princes, and, lastly,
to the shame of the whole kingdom, rights to the throne of France. One
cannot understand, then, for what motive Louis XIV. would have sought
to have got rid of a prince too unimportant to excite his jealousy, too
submissive for a revolt to be feared from him, and who, the son of a
bastard, was preparing for and justifying by his example the early and
more and more scandalous elevation of the illegitimate offspring of the
great King.

Previous to the expedition to Candia, whither, according to
Lagrange-Chancel, and those who share his opinion,[185] Beaufort was
sent in order that he might be carried off and afterwards condemned
to perpetual imprisonment, was there any act in the Admiral’s naval
career, by which he had entered into a state of rebellion against the
court? Was there anything of the kind in the expedition of 1664, when,
in spite of the opinions of his lieutenants, some of whom wished
to attack Bona first, others Boujeiah,[186] Beaufort, adhering too
strictly to Louis XIV.’s detailed instructions, directed an attack on
Gigery, of which he possessed himself prematurely, and compromised
the results of the campaign by a scrupulous obedience to orders given
at a distance, and which he ought to have been bold enough to have
disregarded? Was there anything in 1666, when he was charged to command
the escort of the new Queen of Portugal,[187] and when, in spite of
his ardour and of a noble desire to hasten to an encounter with the
English, he agreed, so as to obey orders, to remain immovable in the
waters of the Tagus?

But let us admit that the cause of this imprisonment, sought for in
vain, can never be known to us, or rather, that the humble deference
displayed by Beaufort towards Louis XIV. had not destroyed in the mind
of the latter the remembrance of the violent passion which made the
Admiral so ungovernable in his behaviour towards his officers. Let
us admit an imaginary crime in order to explain an abduction which
there is nothing positive to justify. Then the precautions taken
after the abduction would be explained to a certain extent, by the
popularity which Beaufort enjoyed at Paris, and Saint-Foix, in refuting
Lagrange-Chancel, has been too positive in affirming the contrary.

“The King’s authority was consolidated,” he says,[188] “and the
imprisonment of the great Condé himself, if it had been considered
necessary to have had him arrested, would not have caused the least
disturbance.” Assuredly, but would things have been the same for the
“King of the _halles_,” whom the people still thoroughly idolized?

This only of Lagrange’s numerous arguments being admitted, and the
necessity of hiding Beaufort from the gaze of all being recognized,
would his abduction have been possible at Candia, in the midst of the
fleet and in the presence of the army? What were the causes of this
expedition, and among them can we detect a desire on the part of the
King to send Beaufort with it, in order to get rid of him afterwards?
Lastly, was this individual, who all the accounts agree in saying
had _disappeared_--was he in reality _killed_, and can we invoke
perfectly conclusive proofs of his death? This is what it is essential
to examine. Contemporary criticism has, up to the present, refuted
the opinion which we are combating, by availing itself only of the
correspondence of Louvois with Saint-Mars,[189] and by showing that
not a line of these despatches permits us to believe that Beaufort was
detained at Pignerol. Let us push the demonstration still further,
and as we have attempted with regard to the hypothesis of a brother
of Louis XIV., and with regard to Vermandois and Monmouth, do not let
us content ourselves with this indirect proof; since, to the silence
preserved by Saint-Mars and Louvois with reference to each of these
individuals, sceptics could bring forward as objections the suppression
of the despatches concerning them or the exclusive employment of
verbal messages. This is why, instead of invoking the usual argument
founded upon an examination of the despatches between the gaoler and
the Minister, we have availed ourselves of it merely in a subsidiary
manner, and only after having previously sought to establish that
a mysterious brother of Louis XIV. never existed, that Vermandois
succumbed before Courtray, and that Monmouth died on the scaffold. This
double demonstration has appeared indispensable to us in a matter where
every one, having held a favourite opinion for a long time, is little
disposed to accept another tending to upset it: so let us try the
method for Beaufort in his turn.


FOOTNOTES:

[173] “Several persons here wish to wager,” wrote Guy-Patin, September
26, 1669, “that M. de Beaufort is not dead. _O utinam!_” And in another
letter, January 14, 1670: “It is said that M. de Vivonne has, by
commission, the office of Vice-Admiral of France for twenty years; but
there are still those who insist that M. de Beaufort is not dead, and
that he is only a prisoner.”

[174] _Mémoires de la Duchesse de Nemours_, vol. xxxiv.; _Mémoires
de Brienne_, and of Conrat, Montglat, and of La Rochefoucauld. “He
formed,” says the Duchess de Nemours, “a kind of jargon of words
so vulgar or so badly arranged, that it rendered him ridiculous to
everybody, although these words, which he arranged so badly, would
perhaps have appeared very good if he had known how to have arranged
them better, being bad only in the places where he put them.”

[175] _Mémoires du Cardinal de Retz_, p. 9.

[176] It was thus that she then designated him.

[177] The Queen’s party.--_Trans._

[178] He was imprisoned there in 1645, and escaped in 1649. It was
referring to this escape that Condé, incarcerated in his turn at
Vincennes, on being recommended the _Imitation of Jesus Christ_
in order to beguile his captivity, answered that he preferred the
_Imitation of the Duke de Beaufort_.

[179] It is known that he one day asked President Bellièvre if he would
not change the face of affairs by giving a box on the ears to the Duke
d’Elbœuf? “I do not think,” answered the magistrate, in a grave tone,
“that would change anything except the face of the Duke d’Elbœuf.”

[180] _Année Littéraire_: Letter of Lagrange-Chancel to M. Fréron on
the subject of the Man with the Iron Mask.

[181] _Art de Vérifier les Dates_, vol. vi. pp. 273 and 277.

[182] _Œuvres de Louis XIV._, vol. v. p. 388 _et seq._

[183] _Relation de Gigéry, faite au Roi par M. de Gadagne,
Lieutenant-Général_:--Imperial Library, Manuscripts.

[184] Cæsar de Vendôme, natural son of Henri IV. and Gabrielle
d’Estrées, and of whom the Duke de Beaufort was the second son, born in
January, 1616:--_Art de Vérifier les Dates_, vol. xii. p. 521.

[185] Such as Lenglet-Dufresnoy, _Plan de l’Histoire Générale et
Particulière de la Monarchie Française_, vol. iii. p. 268 _et seq._
Paris, 1754.

[186] _Mémoire de M. de Gadagne_, already quoted.

[187] Marie de Savoie, Duchess de Nemours, wife of Alphonso VI., King
of Portugal.

[188] _Réponse de Saint-Foix et Recueil de tout ce qui a été écrit sur
le Prisonnier Masqué_, p. 20, 1770.

[189] Amongst others, M. Paul Lacroix (Bibliophile Jacob), _Histoire de
l’Homme au Masque de Fer_, 1840, p. 161.




                              CHAPTER X.

 Causes of the Expedition to Candia--Court Intrigue--Turenne and the
 Duke d’Albret--Preparations for the Expedition--Beaufort Commands
 it--Departure of the Fleet--Its Arrival before Candia--State of
 this Island--Description of the Place besieged--Last Council of
 War--Plan of Attack, which is fixed for the Middle of the Night
 of June 24, 1669--The First Movements are successful--Terrible
 Explosion of the Magazine of a Battery--Fearful Panic--Rout of the
 French--Re-embarkation of the Troops--Certainty of Beaufort’s Death.


The causes of the expedition to Candia have not been entirely
indicated. It is said[190] “that public opinion in France, having
received the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle badly, the army especially
complaining of it, Louis XIV. and Louvois eagerly seized the
opportunity of diverting this unquiet zeal, of making this flame burn
out, and that they willingly allowed themselves to be persuaded by
the Nuncio and the Venetian Ambassador to send assistance to Candia,
menaced by the Turks.” To this consideration, which certainly was of
great weight, it is necessary to add the influence of a court intrigue,
and to explain the very particular motives which Louis XIV. had for
pleasing the Pope.

Louvois having succeeded in causing his brother, Le Tellier, to be
appointed to the coadjutorship of Rheims, in preference to the Duke
d’Albret, nephew of Turenne, and the illustrious Marshal, not having
been more successful in getting his relation named coadjutor of the
Archbishop of Paris, Louis XIV., to appease his resentment, promised
the young abbé a cardinal’s hat. Madame de Montespan, related to the
d’Albret family, and already all-powerful, exerted herself with all her
influence to hasten the fulfilment of this promise. On the other hand,
the Prince d’Awersberg, one of the principal ministers of Leopold, had
received from Grémonville, the French Ambassador, the assurance of
Louis XIV.’s support to obtain from Clement IX. a cardinal’s hat, in
return for his assiduity in serving near the Emperor the interests of
the King in the great affair of the treaty for the partition of the
Spanish monarchy, signed secretly in 1668. The Pope knew how to turn
this double demand to his own profit.[191] He enlarged greatly upon
his extreme desire to satisfy the Most Christian King, but also upon
his fears of irritating the other Catholic nations by a preference
which would be insulting to them. He alleged the necessity which then
existed for him not to render any Power discontented, and for causing
them all to be united in repelling the common enemy of Christianity.
“Thus, Monseigneur,” wrote our envoy at Rome to De Lionne, “your
Excellency will very easily perceive that if I had something positive
to say as to what his Majesty has resolved to do with reference to the
affairs of Candia during next season, I should meet with more facility
here for the advancement of the promotion.”[192] That the piety and
religious sentiments of Louis XIV. may have counted for something in
his resolution to send troops to Candia to fight against the Turks,
is possible. That he may have been determined by the necessity of
offering glorious amends to the army, discontented at the peace of
Aix-la-Chapelle, can certainly not be denied. But, nevertheless, one
must not overlook the influence which would have been exercised upon
Louis XIV.’s decision by the certainty of satisfying the Pope in so
tender a point, and by being able at one and the same time to keep his
engagements towards the Minister of the Empire, content Turenne, and
please Madame de Montespan. In any case it is impossible to reckon
among these numerous causes a pretended desire to get rid of Beaufort,
and there is no need to invoke so unlikely a motive, while so many
positive grounds exist to explain this expedition.

The Duke de Beaufort was naturally chosen to command it.[193] In
spite of his violence of character, everything called him to it; his
birth, his rank of High Admiral, the commands which he had already
held in several naval expeditions, and a certain aptitude which he
possessed for the sailor’s rude and perilous calling. Under his orders,
Rochechouart, Count de Vivonne, had the direction of the galleys, and
the Duke de Navailles was the commander of the landing forces. These
troops were 7,000[194] in number, and were officered by the _élite_ of
the nobility,[195] who made it a duty of chivalry to serve against the
infidel. It was in some sort a new crusade, and, if it excited less
enthusiasm than when people undertook to deliver the tomb of Christ,
if the powerful lever of a robust faith, which had formerly raised up
entire nations, had long since become weakened, French audacity and
valour found a certain romantic attraction in a distant expedition,
directed against a country and an adversary equally unknown.

In a few days collections, organized throughout the kingdom, had met
the expenses of fitting out the expedition; and June 5, 1669, the
fleet left Toulon during the finest possible weather, which lasted the
whole of the voyage, and rendered it extraordinarily quick. Composed
of twenty-two vessels of the line and of three _galiotes_,[196] the
fleet joined, on the 17th, fourteen Venetian boats charged with
horses, near Cape Sapienza, off the point of the Morea. On the 19th,
at five o’clock in the morning, the western extremity of the Isle of
Candia was sighted. At the head of the squadron sailed the flag-ship
_Le Monarque_, its poop covered with brilliantly-gilt carvings by
Puget, and at its mast-head the papal standard, richly embroidered
with the arms of the Holy See. At the sight of the land, which was in
possession of the Turks, ensigns of a thousand colours were displayed
on _Le Monarque_. Every other vessel in its turn immediately joined in
this proud salute. The French cannon burst forth, the Turkish batteries
replied to it from the port of Canea, and, amidst the uproar of this
inoffensive discharge, amidst the resplendent gleams of the rising sun,
the fleet passed majestically before the enemy; and, doubling the point
of the island, directed its course towards the capital, which it had
come to defend.

By degrees, as it approached, the delightful spectacle of fertile
meadows bounded afar off by green wooded hills, which but lately had
been offered to the sight, became changed to a picture of desolation
and mourning. During several years the Turks, commanded by the Grand
Vizier Mahomet-Kioprili, had little by little taken possession of
the entire island, with the exception of the principal town, which
the Venetians were holding by desperate efforts against an enemy
that unceasingly recruited its losses, and advanced slowly but with
indefatigable tenacity. The French fleet, continuing its course, sees
before it a country bearing traces of long and cruel devastation.
The mountains shorn of their forests to meet the necessities of war,
present their bare and ravaged sides to the view. The soil is untilled
and arid. Beside immense quarries rise lofty engines for throwing
stones upon the besieged. To the deep silence of these solitudes
succeeds the reverberations of artillery, whose detonations, at first
confused, soon become quite distinct. At times a flash of reddish
flames is suddenly perceived,--it is an advanced work blown up by
a mine; at others a shell rapidly traverses the air, and, perhaps,
lights upon and destroys a building of the town. At last, just as
the soldiers, crowded upon the decks, reach the end of their voyage,
their attentive looks discern the camp of the Turks, surmounted by
waving banners and protected by breastworks, sandy spots where the
cavalry are exercising, vast stores of arms, machinery at work, wounded
being carried on litters, a formidable army in a state of commotion,
animation, movement, and life; and, in the background, standing out
from the horizon, the ramparts of Candia overlooked by its silent
steeples, its almost deserted towers, with here and there some domes
which glitter in the sun.

The evening following their arrival, Beaufort, Navailles, and the
general officers, cautiously left the roadstead where the squadron had
cast anchor, and in a little row-boat, with carefully muffled oars,
succeeded in eluding the vigilance of the Turks, and in penetrating
into the port of the besieged town.[197] Their disappointment on
arriving there was extreme; and after having been witnesses, during
the day, of the energy and vigour displayed by the besiegers, they
convinced themselves, during the evening, of the dejection and
impotence of the defenders of Candia. Whilst the Ambassador of
the Venetian Republic had affirmed at Versailles that their number
still amounted to 14,000 men, it was, in reality, reduced to 6,000
combatants, who, discouraged and ill, considered the loss of the
town as inevitable, and continued to fight through duty, but without
hope.[198] The gunners had nearly all perished in the subterranean
galleries, where the Turks had pursued them with the implacability
of fanaticism. Of the two principal bastions of the place, one,
the Bastion Saint-Andrew, was already in the power of the enemy;
and the Venetians were too weak to preserve the other--that of the
Sablonnière--much longer. The streets, blocked up with rubbish,
scarcely afforded a passage for the troops. Here and there smoking
ruins, in the midst of an open space, bore witness to a recent fire.
Far apart were houses, their upper stories turned into casemates,
and looking like isolated citadels, where the unhappy inhabitants
had crowded to take refuge. In the open places were to be seen a few
soldiers pacing up and down in silence, or perhaps some wounded being
carried from the trenches and accompanied by a priest. Everywhere were
the certain signs of utter discouragement and of approaching defeat.

“The universal opinion is that the town can only be succoured by a
general engagement,” wrote the Intendant Delacroix to France.[199]
He expressed the opinion of the Council, which had assembled on the
20th at Candia. This was unanimous; and Saint-André-Montbrun,[200]
Beaufort, Morosini (the captain-general of the Venetians), as well as
Navailles, saw some chances of success only in a vigorous sortie from
the side of the Sablonnière. There, in truth, a portion of the Turks
were separated from their principal army, and exposed to the cross-fire
of the town and fleet, and ran, moreover, the danger of being driven
into the sea, which was close at hand.

The definitive plan of attack was determined on in a final Council
of War, held on the 24th, at seven o’clock in the evening, and its
execution fixed for the middle of the following night. Beaufort
assembled on board his ship all the captains of the army; and the
disembarkation of troops, which commenced at nine o’clock in large and
strong launches, was finished, without impediment, by midnight.[201] As
each company disembarked, it proceeded to the esplanade situated by the
side of the bastion of the Sablonnière. Surprise being the principal
condition of success, the officers gave their orders in a low voice,
and the soldiers advanced, with many precautions. The troops of Candia
not on duty in the bastions were only informed of the plan of attack at
one in the morning by their chiefs, who came to awake them, and lead
them to their post. When the clock of the church of Saint-Mark struck
two, the foot-soldiers were all assembled on the esplanade.[202]
In spite of their number, nothing save the pale reflection of their
muskets betrayed their presence. Immovable and silent, they awaited
the signal of departure; and on this calm and peaceful night, which
was about to be marked by a bloody struggle, one heard as yet only the
regular and monotonous footsteps of the sentinels on the ramparts.
Soon the dull trot of horses advancing over the sand is joined to
it. Two hundred of the King’s musketeers and five companies of
cavalry have come to reinforce the infantry, and are followed by
Beaufort, Navailles, and a numerous staff. After having given the
countersign,[203] and confided his young nephew, the Chevalier de
Vendôme, to the watchful care of the Marquis de Schomberg and the Baron
de Saint-Mark, charged to follow him everywhere in the fight,[204]
Beaufort addresses a few brave and energetic words, to those about
him,[205] and the command is given to advance in silence. The soldiers
placed under De Navailles’ orders went towards the right. Beaufort was
to occupy the left with a large portion of the marines and with his
guards, commanded by Colbert de Maulevrier, the Minister’s brother. It
was arranged that the two divisions should reunite at a signal to be
given by that of Navailles.[206]

Arrived at a point very near to the Turks, Beaufort’s troops, in order
to wait till the night should be less obscure, and to give Navailles,
who had a longer distance to traverse, time to reach the designated
spot, lay down on their stomachs, admiral, soldiers, and officers--the
latter occupying themselves only with the concealing of the links,
and with recommending, in a low voice, the most minute precautions.
Three-quarters of an hour before daybreak the drums of the Turks were
heard. Some sailors, at Beaufort’s orders, approached the Turkish
camp by crawling; and, returning in the same manner, brought the
intelligence that it was only the usual _réveillée_ which had just been
beaten, and that the enemy were in complete ignorance of the danger
which menaced them.[207] The troops remained extended on the ground,
silent and motionless, and Beaufort listened attentively to catch the
signal indicating that Navailles’ division had commenced the attack.

This general had arrived with the same good luck at the extreme right.
After having been joined there by his reserve and his rearguard, he
sent the former, commanded by the Count de Choiseul, a little to the
westward of Candia, so as to prevent any communication between the two
Turkish camps, and kept his rearguard with him, in order to protect the
most threatened points. Then he led forward Dampierre’s corps, charged
to commence the attack, and creeping towards a little hill, which
afforded him a good view, he awaited the result.

Meanwhile, Beaufort, although sure of the quietude and inaction of the
Turks, was with difficulty restraining his fiery impatience, when,
half an hour before dawn, he heard at the extreme right a deafening
discharge of musketry. Immediately he arose, and all his troops with
him, ordered a salute to be beaten and the charge sounded, and
springing to the head of the first battalion, cleared the entrenchment
which defended the Turkish camp. Colbert, followed by the company of
Guards, rushed towards the left, with the intention of surrounding the
adversary. With equal impetuosity they all traversed a ravine which
they encountered in the rear of the entrenchment, and without suffering
themselves to be checked in their onslaught by the stony nature of
the soil, carried at the first attack the trenches of the enemy, who
abandoned them after having fired off their arms. The surprise and
fright of the Turks were extreme. They fled in disorder, pell-mell;
and many of those who escaped Beaufort threw themselves into the
sea, pursued by Dampierre’s troops. All at once, towards the right,
an immense flash of fire was seen, and a fearful explosion shook the
ground. The soldiers and sailors surrounding Beaufort stopped suddenly;
but he, without appearing alarmed by this noise, the cause of which he
did not know, exclaimed, “Courage, children! courage! Since they spring
a mine in our front, it is a sign that they are flying.” He succeeded
for a moment in overcoming the terror of his troops, and even prevailed
on them to advance a few paces.[208] But on the detachment commanded
by Dampierre the effects of this terrible catastrophe were something
very different. Caused by the explosion of a magazine, containing
twenty-five tons of powder, which had been set alight through the
imprudence of a musketeer, it had destroyed an entire battalion of
French Guards, and had produced everywhere an unspeakable terror. The
troops were persuaded that the enemy had undermined the whole of their
works, and that the ground they were marching over was about to open
under their feet. From point to point did this belief spread, until the
terrified soldiers threw away their arms and fled with precipitation.
It was in vain that Navailles, Dampierre, and the other general
officers endeavoured to restrain them. The panic became universal, and
the shameful and dreadful cry of “_Sauve qui peut!_” resounded from
all parts. This disorder was increased still more by an error which
even the obscurity of the night can scarcely explain. The fugitives,
meeting Beaufort’s sailors, threw themselves upon them as enemies.
The long garments of seven or eight Armenians who were at their head,
contributed, it seems, to confirm a fatal mistake.[209] In this
horrible _mêlée_ no one recognized any one else, and fellow-countrymen
killed one another in the belief that they were slaying the infidels.
Beaufort, utterly abandoned, endeavoured to correct this disastrous
error.[210] On his wounded horse, covered with blood and with his
clothes rent, he threw himself into the midst of the agitated groups,
exclaiming, “To me, my children! I am your admiral. Rally around
me!”[211] Heroic, but unavailing efforts! Supreme appeal of a voice
till then so dear, but now unrecognized--a voice which had just
uttered its last words! The bewildered soldiers remained insensible to
these generous supplications, and it was only when daylight began to
illumine this field of carnage that the confusion ceased with the cause
which had produced it. But then the Turks, who had had time to recover
their courage, and who proved themselves as prompt in rallying as they
had been alert in taking to flight, rushed on, shouting the name of
the Prophet, and with irresistible impetuosity became in their turn
assailants, and pursued the French to the very gates of Candia.[212]

When, under the shelter of the ramparts, an account was taken of the
loss, and after the wounded who had managed to reach the town had
been examined, Beaufort’s absence was perceived. Those who explain
this absence by an abduction which Colbert, his enemy, had ordered,
do not fail to note the presence of the Minister’s brother, Colbert
de Maulevrier, by the side of Beaufort during the battle, and they
see in the commandant of the Guards the executioner of the Minister’s
vengeance. But how can this singular belief be held, when a letter
from Maulevrier to his brother, the first which he wrote to him after
the battle, far from giving the Minister an account of Beaufort’s
abduction, contains these words:[213]--“The unhappy fate of M. l’Amiral
is the most deplorable thing in the world. As I was obliged to go
backwards and forwards during the whole time that the attack lasted,
in order to assemble what I could of the troops, there was no one of
whom I did not make inquiries respecting him,[214] and not one could
ever tell me anything of him.” It is true that these words, if they
destroy the supposition of an abduction ordered by Colbert, may still
allow it to be supposed that Beaufort was a prisoner of the Turks.
But the laconism of this portion of the letter is accounted for when
one discovers from the remainder of it that the writer was suffering
from his wounds, worn-out with fatigue, and solely preoccupied with
his restoration to health. It is true again that Navailles, in his
despatch, makes use of the word _perte_,[215] applicable equally to
the death of the Admiral and to the hypothesis that he was a prisoner
in the hands of the Turks. But how can a single doubt remain when the
account addressed to the Minister of Marine states that the Chevalier
de Flacourt, having been sent to the Turkish camp with a flag of
truce, for the purpose of making inquiries respecting the Admiral,
learned that he was not among the prisoners;[216] and when a report
addressed to Colbert on the 27th, not by a sick man, deprived of news,
but by a witness in a position to know everything, infers that the
Admiral was dead?[217] How can one have any further doubts, above
all, when the circumstances just related, and the courage displayed
by this bold adventurer, render this end so probable? That the age
of Beaufort, born in 1616, which would make the mysterious corpse
of 1703 a nonagenarian, almost suffices to overthrow the system of
Lagrange-Chancel and Langlet-Dufresnoy, is incontestable. But this
proof not having appeared sufficiently decisive to these writers, it
became essential to seek for every kind of testimony, in order, so far
as was just, to restore to this grandson of Henri IV. the glory of
having died with arms in his hand on the field of battle, and of having
thus crowned a life of adventures by an end worthy of his valour, his
race, and his country.


FOOTNOTES:

[190] M. Camille Rousset, _Histoire de Louvois_, already quoted, vol.
i. p. 257.

[191] Letter from the Abbé Bigorre to De Lionne, December 28,
1668:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Rome, 1669.

[192] Letters from the Abbé Bigorre to De Lionne, December 28, 1668.
After the expedition to Candia, M. d’Albret alone received the hat. See
despatches from the Abbé Bigorre to De Lionne, July 9, 1669, and from
the Abbé de Bourlemont to De Lionne, August 9, 1669:--Archives of the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Rome, 1669.

[193] _Instruction que le roi a résolu être envoyée à M. le duc de
Beaufort, pair, grand maître, chef et surintendant général de la
navigation et commerce du royaume, sur l’emploi de l’armée navale
que S. M. met en mer sous son commandement pendant la présente
campagne:_--Imperial Library, Manuscripts, Colbert’s Papers.

[194] Letters from De Lionne to the Cardinal Rospigliosi upon
the troops promised by Louis XIV., January 11 and February 26,
1669:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Rome.
_État des armées de mer et de terre envoyées par le roi très-chrétien
en Candie, en la présente année_ 1669:--Archives of the Ministry
of Marine. Letter from Louvois to the Governors, February 20,
1669:--Archives of the Ministry of War.

[195] Among them were the Count de Choiseul, MM. de Castellan and de
Dampierre, Marquis de Saint-Vallier, Duke de Château-Thierry, Marquises
d’O, d’Huxelles, and de Sevigné, &c. &c.:--Letter from Madame de
Sevigné to Bussy-Rabutin, August 18, 1669. At the end of 1668, Count
de Saint-Paul and Count de la Feuillade had gone to succour Candia at
the head of three hundred volunteers. But they returned after a very
murderous sally, having lent the Venetians an assistance more brilliant
than actually efficacious.

[196] [These were small vessels of light draught, without any
foremast.--_Trans._] The galleys, to the number of thirteen, commanded
by Vivonne, were delayed several days off the coasts of Italy, and only
arrived a week after Beaufort:--Archives of the Ministry of Marine.

[197] Letters of Saint-André-Montbrun:--Manuscripts of the Imperial
Library. Letters from Navailles to the King:--Archives of the Ministry
of Marine.

[198] Letter from Navailles to the King, July 5, 1669.

[199] Letter from Delacroix to Louvois, June 22, 1669:--Archives of the
Ministry of War.

[200] The Marquis de Saint-André-Montbrun, a French nobleman, had
been for several years in Candia, and by his courage and talents
had finished by becoming, under Morosini, the chief general of the
Venetians.

[201] _Rélation de ce qui s’est passé dans la sortie qui s’est faite
en Candie par toutes les troupes du roy, tant de terre que de mer,
pour l’attaque du camp de la Sablonnière, le 25 du mois de Juin,
1669:_--Archives of Ministry of Marine, Campagne 3. In my account I
have chiefly followed this unpublished manuscript, which has every sign
of authenticity.

[202] _Rapport adressé par le sieur Brodart à Colbert, à la radde de
Candie, à bord de la Princesse, le 27 Juin, 1669:_--Manuscripts of the
Imperial Library, _Papiers Colbert_, 153 _bis_. Unpublished document.

[203] The countersign was: “Louis and forward!”

[204] _Rélation de ce qui s’est passé dans la sortie_, &c., already
quoted. This was the nephew, who became the famous Vendôme. He
displayed on June 25, 1669, very great courage, and was rather
seriously wounded.

[205] _Le siège de Candie_, manuscript of Philibert de Jarry:--Imperial
Library.

[206] Letter from Colbert de Maulevrier to his brother Colbert. “At
Candie, this Sunday, the last day of June, at five o’clock in the
evening:”--Manuscripts, Imperial Library, _Papiers Colbert_, 153 _bis_.

[207] _Rélation_, &c., already quoted:--Archives of the Ministry of
Marine.

[208] _Rélation_, &c., already quoted:--Archives of the Ministry of
Marine.

[209] _Mémoires de Saint-André-Montbrun_, pp. 362, 363.

[210] _Rélation de ce qui s’est passé en la sortie faite sur le camp
des Turcs du côté de la Sablonnière, la nuict du 24ᵉ au 25ᵉ Juin,
1669, en Candie:_--Archives of the Ministry of War, 238. “M. l’Amiral
remained abandoned by all his marines, and did not have a single one of
his guards with him.”

[211] _Relation_, &c., already quoted:--Archives of the Ministry of
Marine.

[212] Navailles, despairing of being able to save Candia, re-embarked
his troops at the end of August, and set sail on the 31st; but as
we are only occupied here with Beaufort, there is no need to relate
the end of an expedition which the disaster of June 25 had caused to
miscarry.

[213] Manuscripts of the Imperial Library, _Papiers Colbert_, 153 _bis_.

[214] This was of course during the battle.

[215] Archives of the Ministry of War, 238.

[216] _Rélation_, &c., already quoted:--Archives of the Ministry of
Marine.

[217] Manuscripts of the Imperial Library, _Papiers Colbert_, _Rapport
adressé par le sieur Brodart à Colbert_, &c., already quoted. [The
biographies of the Duke de Beaufort say it was commonly believed at the
time that, according to the barbarous custom of the Turks, his dead
body was beheaded by them, which would account for its not having been
found on the field of battle.--See _Biographie Universelle_ of Michaud,
&c.--_Trans._]




                              CHAPTER XI.

 General Considerations on the Abduction of the Armenian Patriarch
 Avedick--Despatch of the Marquis de Ferriol to Constantinople as
 Ambassador--Difficulties peculiar to this Post--Incautious Conduct
 of some of Ferriol’s Predecessors--Quiclet’s Adventures--Portrait
 of Ferriol--His Pretensions at Constantinople--His Eccentricity of
 Manner--His Behaviour in Religious Matters--The Armenian Church--Short
 Account of its History--Ardent Desire of the Catholic Missionaries to
 make Converts--Their Imprudence--Ferriol at first attempts to repair
 it--Obstinate Resistance of Father Braconnier, a Jesuit--Encroachments
 and Requirements of the Jesuits.


We now come to the story of a most audacious violation of the law of
nations, conceived by the fanaticism of an ambassador, ventured upon in
a friendly country, with a singular boldness and energy, accomplished
by stratagem and imposture, and thus kept from the knowledge of an
entire people. The high rank of the victim, the character of the
means employed, the ardour of the passions then excited, give an
especial importance to this act of violence, which was crowned by a
_dénoûment_ as startling as up to the present it was little known.
People were aware that an Armenian Patriarch, who combined with his
civil power enormous religious authority, had been carried off from
Constantinople towards the end of Louis XIV.’s reign. But what became
of him afterwards, and what adventures terminated the existence of
this personage who had been rudely snatched away from his country and
precipitated from the pinnacle of honour and the highest dignity? Must
we see in him the mysterious prisoner of the Isles Sainte-Marguerite,
as Taulès and the grave German historian Hammer have affirmed?[218]
Or, as others believe, did he rather end his days in the _bagne_ of
Marseilles, or in the obscurity of a prison of Messina, or, more
likely still, in one of the dungeons of the Inquisition?[219] What
were the real causes of this extraordinary crime, which almost made
the Sultan link himself with the numerous enemies of Louis XIV., and
how did this monarch, vanquished and crushed by a coalition which was
already formidable, contrive to appease the resentment of the Ottoman
Porte? Such are the points which documents, entirely unpublished and
of indisputable authenticity, will enable us to make clear. And this
we shall do with the sole desire for truth, and without seeking to
exaggerate or to extenuate the responsibility attaching to the authors
of the crime. The more profound the mystery with which it has been
surrounded, the more necessary it is to entirely penetrate it, and,
after so many deeds which justly entitle Louis XIV. to admiration and
gratitude, the more necessary also is it not to leave in obscurity, the
only one perhaps where he has made use of the worst of violences, that
which is aided by lying and hypocrisy.

In 1699, Louis XIV. appointed the Marquis de Ferriol his ambassador at
Constantinople. This post was beset with difficulties. To represent
among Mussulmen a highly Catholic nation; and in a country divided
among several dissenting Churches, to be the natural and appointed
protector of a very small Latin minority, unceasingly aspiring to
increase in number, and encouraged in proselytism by ardent and
active missionaries; to restrain the often thoughtless zeal of these
missionaries, and, moreover, to prevent this Latin minority from ceding
to the offers of the German Empire and placing themselves under its
protection;[220] to defend the interests of merchants, more and more
exacting in their demands, often unjust in their complaints,[221] and
whose encroachments met with opposition not only from the Turks, but
especially from the English, the Genoese, and the Venetians; to act in
the name of an extremely haughty monarch near a very touchy Government,
and one still too much isolated and too much aloof from the great
enterprises of Europe for it to give Louis XIV. credit for the as
yet continued success of his arms and the brilliancy of his reign; to
maintain the misunderstanding between the Germans and the Turks, by
inducing the former to send assistance to the rebellious Hungarians,
and to keep up the resentment of the Porte against the Venetians, but
nevertheless without going to the extremity of causing it to break
out in war; to live in the midst of manners altogether peculiar and
in certain respects always barbarous, to imitate Asiatic luxury, and
to submit to customs[222] which were sometimes extremely onerous; to
assist at frequent and unexpected _révolutions de palais_, which would
in a day upset the policy of the Divan and baffle every project: such
was then the delicate task of the French ambassadors at Constantinople.

The constant assistance which Louis XIV. had as yet lent to the
enemies of the Turks made the position of his representatives more
difficult still. One day, when one of them recalled to the Grand
Vizier, Kiuproli-Ogli, the old alliance of France and Turkey, and
evoked the recollections of the time of Francis I., “I do not know,”
answered Kiuproli, “if the French are our allies; but it is certain
they are invariably to be found among our enemies. There were six
thousand of them at the passage of the Raab. Your Admiral, Beaufort,
attacked Gigery, and made a cruel war on the Moors placed under our
protection, and you have assisted the Venetians in Candia.” Far
from having appeased these very legitimate feelings of resentment,
Ferriol’s predecessors had excited them still more by most imprudent
acts. Sometimes, even, they had resorted to violence in order to get
rid of a difficult situation, and had had recourse to those arbitrary
acts of authority, of which the Sultan, it is true, often set them an
example in his seraglio, but which should have been impossible to the
representatives of a civilized nation.

It was thus that La Haye, ambassador at Constantinople in 1659, did
not scruple to free himself by a crime from an extreme peril in which
his very equivocal conduct had placed him.[223] France was succouring
Candia, besieged by the Turks. It was an assistance quite natural
and assuredly very praiseworthy; but what was less honourable, the
French ambassador carried on with the Venetians a continued secret
intercourse, and, in a cypher correspondence, kept them informed of
all the designs of the Turks. One day the person charged to carry his
mysterious news to the Venetians betrayed him, and, seduced by the bait
of a reward, presented himself to the Caïmacan[224] of Constantinople
and announced that he wished to embrace the Mahometan faith, and to
deliver to the Grand Vizier himself a packet of letters of great
importance. The Ottoman Minister, who already had suspicions of this
intercourse, eagerly received the proofs brought to him, but it was
in vain that he tried to decipher them, and neither the interpreters
nor the renegades who swarmed at the Sultan’s court, could penetrate
the secret of the intercepted letters. In the meanwhile there arrived
at Constantinople a Frenchman, named Quiclet, an adventurer without
resources, who boasted of having acquired by long practice the science
of deciphering letters without a key. Badly received by La Haye, to
whom he had applied for pecuniary assistance, he had the imprudence to
menace him with his vengeance, and his wife said to the people of the
embassy, “His Excellency refuses money to my husband, but we know very
well how to obtain it from the Grand Vizier.” La Haye became alarmed
when informed of this speech. He feared lest this wretched intriguer
might really be able to decipher the despatches, or failing this,
might, by aid of his imagination, render them more compromising still.
He grew agitated. He saw his life in danger, and his character as Louis
XIV.’s ambassador at stake. He sends for Quiclet to the embassy, giving
him hopes of assistance. The latter, as imprudent in his confidence
as he had been thoughtless in his threats, hastens to the palace. La
Haye leads him, while talking, on to a terrace overlooking the embassy
garden; some servants throw themselves upon him, and others, posted at
the spot where he falls, kill him and inter him there.[225]

This characteristic deed serves as a fitting prologue to the story of
the not less revolting abuse of force which marked the embassy of
Ferriol, who was as unscrupulous as La Haye upon the choice of means,
and whose implacable animosity knew how to strike the most eminent
personages as well as intriguers of low degree. In truth, every
expedient appeared to him suitable to be adopted, provided that it was
of a nature to aid him in the accomplishment of his designs; and his
adventurous and agitated past already announced the new ambassador’s
line of conduct.

It was by intrigue rather than by his talents that the obscure
gentleman of Dauphiné managed to rise by degrees, and from simple
King’s musketeer to become ambassador at Constantinople. Compelled to
quit France, in consequence of a love-affair, and Poland, where he had
taken refuge, because of a violent dispute at a gaming-party,[226]
compromising the friends who had given him hospitality, but succeeding,
nevertheless, in preserving them as active architects of his fortune,
Ferriol went first to Candia to fight against the Turks, and then
on their side in Hungary against the Imperialists.[227] Instead of
confining himself to his military duties, he interfered in matters
of diplomacy, gave an account of them to Louis XIV., gained himself
supporters in the Turkish camp, and brought his services under the
notice of the Marquis de Torcy by means of Madame de Ferriol, his
sister-in-law,[228] who possessed great influence over the Minister.
This was not all. Not content with increasing the number of his
supporters, he made himself the unjust, passionate, and tenacious
adversary of the Abbé de Châteauneuf, ambassador at Constantinople. As
eager to injure him as he was industrious to give himself importance,
he calumniated the man whose post he coveted, and knew, which appeared
difficult, how to interest the piety of Louis XIV. in the recall of
an ambassador who was a priest, and whom his enemy accused of an
inclination for the Turkish religion.[229] To gain his ends by means
of an imputation so utterly improbable and so strange was a proof of
extreme cleverness, and was doubtless the reason why he was recompensed
by Louis XIV. sending him to replace the Abbé de Châteauneuf at
Constantinople.

But Ferriol showed less ability in the performance of his functions
than he had displayed in obtaining his post. At a time when the most
prudent moderation was indispensable, he exhibited, from the day of his
arrival, the signs of the most fervid impetuosity, which was already
a kind of disease in him, and which, becoming more and more exuberant
and excessive, was to degenerate, ten years later, into a species
of insanity. In all countries there are certain distinctions which
Princes reserve for themselves, and which, for this reason and out of
the commonest politeness, ambassadors take care not to appropriate. In
Spain, formerly, the Sovereign alone could drive through Madrid in a
coach drawn by six mules. At Constantinople, the Sultan and the Grand
Vizier exclusively enjoyed the privilege of sailing on the waters of
the Bosphorus in a boat covered by an awning lined with purple.[230]
Neither the Mufti, the other grandees of the Porte, nor any foreign
representative would have dared to have usurped to himself what was
considered in Turkey as a peculiar honour. Ferriol refused to submit
himself to this custom, up to that time respected by every one. But
on his first appearance in a caïque similar to the Grand Seignior’s,
the Bostanji-Bachi[231] ordered a hundred blows with the stick to be
given to the _caichis_ who had manned the boat of the vain-glorious
ambassador, and caused the latter to be informed that on the occasion
of a second infraction he should fire upon and sink it. Although aware
that ambassadors ought to present themselves unarmed before the Sultan,
and that, as a matter of favour, a court-sword[232] was sometimes
allowed, Ferriol completely estranged the Turks by attending the
Imperial audience armed with a long rapier. He not only had contentions
with the officers of the Divan, but also with the other ambassadors.
Some French deserters from the German army had aggravated their
offence by going to brave, even in his palace, Count d’Ortinghem, the
representative of the Empire, who had them arrested, less for their
desertion than to punish their arrogance. Ferriol immediately ordered
two officers of the German embassy to be carried off by force. Justly
irritated, D’Ortinghem demanded their release. The two sides armed
themselves. The subjects of each country were called together. A fight
was about to stain with blood the streets of Constantinople, and it was
only the energetic interference of the representative of Holland that
prevented it.[233]

For this inflexibility of character, this haughtiness of conduct,
and eccentricity of manners, the pomp and brilliancy of Ferriol’s
receptions, and his profound knowledge of the country in which he
resided, were not sufficient compensation. Well informed of all
the affairs of the Levant, he thoughtlessly compromised a precious
experience by his impetuous decisions and utter absence of all
propriety and decorum. The boldness of certain means attracted more
than their illegality restrained him. Being entirely ignorant of the
art of gradually smoothing down a difficulty, and, by using time as an
auxiliary, of carefully managing obstacles, he blindly threw himself
upon them, believing himself able to overcome them by a prompt and
hazardous recourse to violence. There still remained in him much of the
adventurous Candia volunteer.

Nevertheless, in religious matters, Ferriol did not at first show
himself so audaciously arbitrary as he was afterwards to become. This
man, who subsequently allowed himself to be enticed by the missionaries
into the most tyrannical and violent resolutions, endeavoured at the
commencement of his embassy to restrain their imprudent and immoderate
zeal. Everything, moreover, engaged him to it. Everything should have
determined him to persevere in this policy of circumspection which the
instructions received from Louis XIV., the character of the schismatic
Armenians, and the blamable excesses of the Jesuits equally made a
duty to him. “His Majesty orders you,” it had been written to Ferriol,
“to accord to the Jesuit fathers a protection conformable to the zeal
which they show for religion, to their disinterestedness, and to the
regularity of their manners.... Nevertheless, you must beware of the
inconsiderate zeal which the missionaries sometimes carry too far;
religion often suffers more prejudice from imprudent undertakings or
untimely demands than it acquires real advantages of success.”[234]
Wise words, too soon disregarded both by him to whom they were
addressed, and by the Prince in whose name they had been written, and
which, singularly prophetic, announced seven years in advance the
misfortunes which the forgetfulness of this judicious warning was to
bring upon the Catholics.

No church deserved more than that of the schismatic Armenians the
employment of that moderation and prudence so opportunely recommended
by Louis XIV. to his ambassador. Naturally good and peaceable, and of
a sociable and kind temper, the Armenians readily became intimate with
strangers, and had no quarrels with them, except in instances when
their own interests were wronged.[235] Long since driven from their
ancient kingdom by conquest, or having voluntarily emigrated through
the necessities of their commerce, they were dispersed over a very
extensive territory, and were encountered in large numbers, not only
in the Turkish Empire and in Persia, but also in Tartary, and even in
Poland. Everywhere they had acquired the reputation of being alike
industrious and persevering. Eager in pursuit of gain, they excelled
in commerce. Although losing more and more the recollection of their
old country, they carefully preserved the unity of their church, and
remained resolutely attached to their faith. They had adopted the
language of the Turks, their costume,[236] everything in short save
what concerned the Armenian religion, to which they showed themselves
scrupulously faithful, and which they respected in every one of its
practices as well as in its doctrines and its spirit. The severities
which it imposed upon them did not dishearten them, neither did they
consider themselves absolved, even by painful journeys, from long and
austere fasts. Their churches were the most decorated and most crowded
of all the East.[237] Their traditions seemed to them so much the
more deserving of veneration because they were more ancient. Having
preserved their nationality by means of their religion, tenacious and
fertile of resources, they were interesting from their misfortunes, the
firmness with which they endured them, and their industrious activity.

For a century past storms had at distant intervals disturbed their
ordinarily peaceable state. These troubles, coming from without, were
not due, as one might imagine, to the persecutions of the conqueror.
The Turks, tolerant by nature as well as out of obedience to their
religion, looked upon all the Christian churches with equal scorn. If
they interfered in the internal divisions of these churches, it was
because they were engaged to do so by complaints, or else to profit
by the voluntary gifts of one of the parties to the controversy.
The punctual payment of the legal tribute sufficed to assure to a
conquered people not only the free exercise of their religion, but
also a material and efficacious support for their patriarchs and
bishops.[238] Far from endeavouring to convert its Christian subjects
to Mahometanism, the Divan received with extreme reserve and even
discouraged those whom the greed of a reward excited to abandon the
religion of Christ. Often rigorously exacting in maintaining their
political rights, the Mahometans were disdainfully and absolutely
indifferent with respect to the religion of the Christians.[239]
Although persuaded of the excellence of Islamism, the Mussulman is
altogether devoid of the spirit of propagandism. In his eyes the
infidels are not necessarily rejected; since, according to the Koran,
“He who hath said there is only one God, he shall enter into Paradise.”
Moreover, _the number of the elect is fixed from all eternity_, and to
endeavour to increase the number is useless as well as contrary to the
commands of the sacred book. So they were ignorant of and could not
understand that charity, admirable in principle although often carried
to excess, which animated the Catholic missionary, inspiring in him a
sublime abnegation, and determining him to leave his country, to cross
deserts, to suffer and to die, in order to save a single soul and make
it share in the consolations and hopes of his faith.

This ardour of propagandism, so highly beneficial to humanity when it
serves to spread the beautiful morality of the Gospel among nations
where it has not yet penetrated, was early made use of by the Holy
See to cause not only idolaters, but also Christians whom very slight
differences in doctrine separated from the Roman communion, to submit
to its spiritual authority. In 1587, Sixtus V., desirous of removing
these differences, sent the Bishop of Sidon to all the Armenian
churches; he failed, however, in his attempt.[240] In 1622, there was
founded at Rome, by Gregory XV., the congregation “for the propagation
of the faith,” to which Urban VIII., his successor, added the College
of the Propaganda, where young men from every part of the world were
instructed and prepared for their missions. At first they had the
wisdom to pursue in the East methods of kindness and of persuasion,
and by these means succeeded in gaining over a rather large number
of dissenters. But success soon rendered the missionaries bolder, and
too confident in the exclusive excellence of their own doctrines, they
substituted for the clever circumspection they had hitherto shown,
and the slow but certain influence of a persuasive impressiveness, a
proselytism, ardent, impassioned, and too hasty in arriving at its
ends. Instead of assisting dissenters to clear the narrow space which
separated them from the Roman Church, by showing them how near they
were to it,[241] instead of rendering prominent all the points which
united them, they proceeded to attack with ill-timed perseverance
the questions of liturgy to which the Armenian Church was especially
attached. They forbade the Catholics, under the severest penalties, to
enter other churches, and when they ought, by judicious indulgence, to
have recognized in the majority of the Armenians brothers separated
by their observances, but in a very slight degree by their doctrines,
they treated them as enemies and barbarians. Justly irritated by this
violent conduct, finding themselves subjected to scorn, and menaced in
their dearest and most venerated traditions, the schismatics complained
to the Divan, and represented the Jesuits not as envoys of peace, but
as fomenters of discord and as conspirators, so much more dangerous,
because they were in the pay of foreign courts.[242]

Ferriol comprehended the imprudent behaviour of the Jesuits, and
attempted to repair it. In 1701 he arranged a reconciliation between
the principal dissenters and the chiefs of the Catholics, and
succeeded in moderating the demands of the latter, and in appeasing
the legitimate resentment of the former. A kind of treaty of union was
drawn up, which, approved by the Grand Patriarch of Armenia, and by the
Catholic archbishop, was to be submitted afterwards to the ratification
of the Court of Rome, and was to regulate the future relations of the
two churches. But the happy effects which would have resulted from
this transaction were sacrificed by the implacable resistance which
Father Braconnier, superior of the Jesuit mission in the East, opposed
to it.[243] In vain Ferriol observed to him “that they were threatened
with a general persecution of the Catholics throughout the Turkish
empire; that the Sultan could issue severe orders, which would give a
mortal blow to the religion by reason of the little firmness which the
Catholics possessed, and that a persecution ought to be avoided when
this could be done without injuring religion and without offending it.”
To these pressing reasons, inspired by humanity and foresight, Father
Braconnier replied, “that the Church had formerly suffered persecutions
much more cruel; that the Armenians ought to know how to suffer; that
he could not permit the Catholics to have the least communication
with their schismatic brethren, and that they ought rather to expose
themselves to the harshest treatment.”[244]

Unfortunately Ferriol had neither sufficient firmness to make his
opinion prevail, nor even perseverance to resolutely maintain it. All
at once abandoning his attempt at reconciliation, he desperately threw
himself into the party of action much more suitable to his vehement
character, and to his strong liking for contest, and also, we must
admit, to the delicate position in which the encroachments of Rome
and the requirements of the Jesuits placed him. The ambassador of the
King of France at Constantinople was then indeed the representative
of the Holy See quite as much as of the court of Versailles, and he
submitted to the custom of corresponding regularly either with the
Pope or with the principal cardinals. Whilst he rendered account to
Louis XIV. of matters of commerce and of the political situation, the
great religious interests formed the subject of periodical despatches
addressed directly to Rome. Very jealous of his authority, Louis XIV.
had pointed out the inconvenience of this correspondence,[245] then
he had tolerated it, and, as often happens, the custom had grown
into an obligation. On the other hand, the Jesuits had more and more
exaggerated the importance of their part, and to the direct influence
which the court of Rome exercised upon the French ambassador by its
pressing despatches,[246] they added the effects of their constant
recriminations, of their feverish and turbulent activity, of their
audacious encroachments. Instructing the Holy See according to their
own fancy and inspiring its orders; ruling Ferriol through Versailles
quite as much as through Rome; ready to calumniate him if he ceased
to be their tool, and even powerful enough to overthrow him; present
and influential everywhere, they were in reality the masters of the
situation, and their responsibility before history is as incontestable
as their power.

While submitting to their yoke, Ferriol sometimes could not prevent
himself from complaining of it. “All here wish to pass for ministers,”
he wrote to Torcy. “They believe themselves more enlightened than the
ambassadors, and the order of each is reversed. These good fathers, who
ought only to go to the convict-prison and the houses of Christians
established in the country, do not abstain from visiting persons of
power, and from imposing upon everybody in political affairs. When an
ambassador wishes to reduce them within the bounds which seem to be
prescribed for them, they treat him as a man devoid of religion who
sacrifices everything to his ambition.”[247] Assuredly this is the
language of truth, everything proves it. But although these complaints
were well founded, although the domination of the Jesuits was then real
enough, we cannot feel much concern for this voluntary victim of their
encroachments. Not only, indeed, did Ferriol refrain from endeavouring
to throw off their heavy yoke, although it sometimes weighed on his
self-esteem; but also, forgetting the character with which he was
invested, and passing from a brief and honourable independence to a
servile devotion, he became the executioner of the vengeance of a
few missionaries with so much implacability, that in fighting their
adversaries he seemed to be engaging his own personal enemies. His
hatred, revived and cleverly kept up by baleful excitements, is about
to docilely follow the direction indicated to it, and to strike without
pity, to pursue without respite, to cause to disappear and overwhelm, a
long time even after his own fall, a great Armenian personage whom it
is now time to introduce in his turn into this story, and to make known
to our readers.


FOOTNOTES:

[218] _L’Homme au Masque de Fer, Mémoire Historique, par le Chevalier
de Taulès, Ancien Consul-général en Syrie_, Paris, 1825. Hammer,
_Histoire de l’Empire Ottoman depuis son Origine jusqu’à nos Jours_,
vol. xiii. p. 187. M. Ubicini, _Lettres sur la Turquie_, Paris,
Dumaine, 1854, part ii. p. 256.

[219] Aubry de la Motraye, _Voyage en Europe, Asie, et Afrique_, La
Haye, 1727, 2 vols. in folio, vol. i. p. 371. Didot’s _Biographie
Universelle_, article “Avedick.”

[220] Instructions given to M. de Ferriol on his departure for
Constantinople:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section
Turkey, 33.

[221] And often abusing the ignorance of the Turks. “It is very sad,”
writes Louis XIV. to Ferriol, February 15, 1707, “that the French
bring themselves into discredit by their failures, and that the Turks
set them the example of that good faith which they ought to observe
in commerce.”--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section
Turkey, 44. “There are no people in the world so easily deceived
and who have been more deceived than the Turks. They are naturally
simple and dull, and ready in believing. Thus it is customary for the
Christians to impose upon them in a variety of ways and to play them
many scandalous tricks.”--Chardin, _Voyage en Perse et autres lieux de
l’Orient_, vol. i p. 17, Langlès’ edition.

[222] We may quote among these usages, the obligation imposed upon the
ambassadors of making a superb present to the Grand Vizier, not only
when they first arrived at Constantinople, but at every change of Grand
Vizier, which happened very frequently. Some of these presents cost as
much as nine thousand livres, a rather large sum at that period. They
consisted especially of clocks, watches, and mirrors:--Archives of the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, _Mémoires des Dépenses_.
“In one year,” writes Ferriol, “I have made four presents to four chief
viziers, Daltahan, Ramy, Achmet, and Assat-Pacha, and to the whole of
the households. It costs me more than 20,000 livres.” Despatch from
Ferriol to the Count de Pontchartrain, of December 4, 1703:--Archives
of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey.

[223] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey I,
_Mémoires et Documents_.

[224] The Caïmacan is a lieutenant of the Grand Vizier who remains
at Constantinople and fills his place when he follows the Sultan to
Adrianople.

[225] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey I,
_Mémoires et Documents_.

[226] With a rich Pole, named Krazcinskí:--Archives of the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, supplement I.

[227] _Correspondance de Ferriol._--_Ibid._

[228] The ambassador was never married. This Madame de Ferriol, his
brother’s wife, mixed in the best society of Paris, and enjoyed
considerable influence with the high personages of the State. She was
the sister of the famous Abbé de Tencin, Cardinal, Minister of State,
and Archbishop of Lyons, and also of the celebrated nun, notorious for
her debauchery, the mistress of Dubois and mother of d’Alembert, by
the Chevalier Destouches:--_Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol. xi. p. 182.
Chéruel’s edition. See also _Vézelay_, historical study by M. Aimé
Chérest, vol. iii. p. 83.

[229] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey,
_Mémoires et Documents_, I.

[230] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Correspondence from
Turkey, I.

[231] Chief of the Bostanji, the Sultan’s Guards.

[232] This at least is what was permitted to De Castagnères, Abbé de
Châteauneuf, who informed Louis XIV. that he had been admitted into the
Seraglio with his sword. But it was very short, and did not attract
attention.

[233] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey,
_Mémoires et Documents_, I.

[234] Instructions given to M. de Ferriol, ambassador:--Archives of the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 33.

[235] This is the testimony which the Jesuits themselves have borne
in several accounts; Father Monnier, _Mémoires des Missionnaires de
la Compagnie de Jésus_, vol. iii. pp. 46-52; Father Fleuriau, _État
présent de l’Arménie_, Paris, 1694. 12mo.

[236] _Lettres sur la Turquie_, by M. A. Ubicini, part 2, p. 252,
Paris, Dumaine.

[237] Father Monnier, work already mentioned.

[238] Hammer, _Histoire de l’Empire Ottoman_. Ubicini, _Lettres sur
la Turquie_. Archives of Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey,
_Mémoires et Documents_, 37.

[239] One day a stranger presented himself before the Grand Vizier,
Raghib-Pasha, saying that Mahomet had appeared to him to invite him
to turn Mussulman, and that he had come on purpose from Dantzic to be
converted. “Here is a strange rascal,” said the Grand Vizier. “Mahomet
has appeared to an infidel, when for more than seventy years I have
been exact in the five prayers, and he has never done me such an
honour!” And the stranger did not become a Mussulman. “I have heard
it said several times by doctors of Mahometan law that, according to
their religion, it was not permitted to them to protect one party
against another in the dispute which sprang up between the Catholics
and the heretics, because, as they said, they were both equally bad.”
Manuscript _Mémoire_ of 1771 on matters of religion:--Archives of
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 37.

[240] _Relazione di quanto ha trattato il Vescovo di Sidonia nella
sua Missione in Oriente, data alla Santità di N.S. Sisto V., alli 19
Aprile, 1587._

[241] See M. Dulaurier’s excellent work: _Histoire, Dogmes, Traditions
et Liturgie de l’Église Arménienne Orientale_, Paris, Durand libraire,
1859. This book combats the generally received opinion that the
Armenians have embraced monophysism, such as has been taught by
Eutyches and his adherents, who recognized only the divine nature
in Christ. Not only, in truth, have the Armenians always condemned
Eutyches, whom their church excommunicates, but also they profess, like
the Greek and Latin churches, the dogma of the two natures, the two
wills, and the two operations in Jesus Christ.

[242] Borée, _l’Arménie_, p. 54; Serpos, _Compendio storico sulla
Nazione Armena_, p. 204, Venice, 1786; M. Ubicini, _Lettres sur la
Turquie_, part 2, p. 254.

[243] Unpublished letter from Ferriol to Father Fleuriau, of November
4, 1701:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey,
37.

[244] Letter from Ferriol to Father Fleuriau, already referred to, in
which Father Braconnier’s own words are quoted.

[245] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Correspondence of
Ferriol and Louis XIV., section Turkey.

[246] But only by its despatches. The court of Rome was very niggard of
its money. “I pray your Majesty to have this account paid me,” wrote
Ferriol to the King, October 17, 1705, “since I receive from the court
of Rome only briefs and indulgences.”

[247] Unpublished letter of Ferriol to the Marquis de Torcy, Minister
of Exterior Relations, April 5, 1704:--Archives of the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 40. We read in another despatch from
Ferriol to the Cardinal de la Trémouille, Louis XIV.’s ambassador at
Rome: “Most of the missionaries complain directly they find the least
obstacle to their desires. Patience is a great virtue which they
rarely practise, although very necessary for the proper cultivation of
the Lord’s vineyard:”--Unpublished letter of Ferriol, March 5, 1709,
Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 46.




                             CHAPTER XII.

 Avedick--His Origin--His Protector, the Grand Mufti, Feizoulah
 Effendi--The two Churches, schismatic and catholic, exist in perfect
 concord--Fall of Mustapha II.--Death of the Mufti--Avedick is deposed
 and imprisoned--The Armenians ransom him--Ferriol’s persistent
 Hatred--His stubborn Animosity against Avedick--He succeeds in
 getting him deposed a second Time--Avedick’s Abduction at Chio--He is
 imprisoned on board a French Vessel--Incidents of the Voyage--Avedick
 endeavours to give Tidings of his Fate to the World--Insuccess of his
 Attempt--His Arrival at Marseilles.


Sprung from the ranks of the people, and belonging to a poor and
obscure family of Tokat,[248] Avedick[249] had been early admitted
into the number of _vertahieds_, or doctors charged with preserving
and teaching the doctrines of the Armenian Church. Quickly becoming
bishop, and then archbishop, he had distinguished himself by his
firmness, which Ferriol terms impudence, in supporting the interests
of his co-religionists. The commencement of his long struggle with the
French ambassador, in which the one showed a becoming loftiness and
the other an extreme violence, and which was to terminate for Avedick
by a terrible catastrophe, dates from a period earlier than the arrival
of Ferriol as ambassador at Constantinople. The latter being in Hungary
in the Turkish camp, and having heard of some disrespectful speeches
of Avedick with reference to Louis XIV., had used his influence with
the Grand Vizier to get the daring archbishop exiled.[250] But in
December, 1701, the excessive rigour of this punishment was made
amends for in a striking manner. The Grand Mufti, Feizoulah Effendi,
nominally charged with spiritual affairs, but who in reality governed
the entire Ottoman empire, by means of his ascendancy over the Sultan
Mustapha II.,[251] was formerly, while at Erzeroum, where he had been
Cadi, intimately acquainted with Avedick, like himself an inhabitant of
this town. Sufficiently powerful to make and overthrow Grand Viziers,
this chief dignitary of the Mussulman faith was able to create his
friend “Armenian Patriarch of Constantinople and of Jerusalem.” In vain
did Ferriol demand from the Grand Chancellor of the empire and from
the Kiaya of the Grand Vizier the confirmation of Avedick’s exile.
These two high personages answered the French ambassador[252] that
the Mufti’s power was supreme, his will in this instance irrevocable,
and that it was as useless to wish to offer opposition to his
determination, as any endeavour to shake his credit would be dangerous.

There remained to Ferriol nothing but submission. But he, as well as
his ardent inspirers, conceived against the Armenian Patriarch, from
that period, an implacable resentment, of which we find the proofs in
every one of his despatches. Time increased this animosity, the effects
of which were not slow in exhibiting themselves. Still at first nothing
in the conduct of the chief of the Armenians justified this enmity. No
doubt he showed himself less docile with regard to their pretensions
than the Jesuits would have wished. No doubt he deceived the hope which
they had conceived of buying him over to their side. But in spite of
the obstacles raised by Avedick’s co-religionists against the treaty of
union which Ferriol had proposed, Avedick exhorted them to peace,[253]
and for several years the two Churches maintained the most perfect
concord. “The liberty allowed the Catholics is so great,” writes
Ferriol, May 1, 1703, “that every one admits that they could not enjoy
more in a Christian country. The reverend Jesuit Fathers at Easter
made the procession of Sainte-Anne, in the middle of Galata, carrying
the cross, the banners, and the relics, with an infinite number of
lighted candles and a prodigious assemblage of people. Formerly this
ceremony was only performed within the walls of the church.”[254]
Instead of giving Avedick credit for this prosperous condition of
affairs, Ferriol availed himself of the first pretext to attempt his
overthrow. But it was in vain that he denounced him to the Kiaya of the
Grand Vizier as having corrupted a courier and intercepted Louis XIV.’s
despatches.[255] This offence, then very common in Turkey, and for
which, moreover, the exile demanded by Ferriol would have been a great
deal too severe a penalty, remained unpunished, and the high protection
of the Mufti continued to screen the Patriarch.

But on this stage of sudden revolutions and unforeseen overthrows,
supreme power was then nearly always followed by a profound fall,
brought about most frequently by a laconic order from the seraglio,
though at times the clamour of the irritated populace was sufficient
to precipitate the favourites of a day from the pinnacle of power, and
in these frequent catastrophes the axe of the executioner was never
inactive. At the moment when Avedick appeared likely to enjoy for a
long time the powerful support of the Mufti, a formidable revolution
broke out at Constantinople. Two hundred thousand men in arms demanded
the presence of the Grand Seignior, insisting upon the observance of
the law according to which he was not permitted in times of peace
to absent himself from the capital; all the troops uniting with the
people and the men of law, the troops to complain of not having been
paid, the people to attribute their misery to the residence of the
Sultan at Adrianople, the men of law to protest against the cupidity
of the Mufti.[256] The latter had his throat cut, the Sultan, Mustapha
II., was deposed, and his brother, Achmet III., was drawn from the
recesses of the seraglio and placed on the throne: such was the
rapid revolution which all at once deprived Avedick of his protector
and delivered him up to Ferriol’s resentment. Indeed, less than two
months afterwards, the Armenian Patriarch was deposed and imprisoned
in the fortress of the Seven Towers,[257] and then, on the repeated
entreaties of the ambassador, exiled to Abratadas in Syria. The
Armenians refused to obey the new Patriarch, Kaisac, and demanded in
vain their beloved chief.[258] Ferriol’s influence was sufficiently
great to allow him to indulge in the most minute and cruel precautions.
Cast on a barren rock, far from Constantinople, the ex-Patriarch still
seemed redoubtable. Ferriol, therefore, rendered his imprisonment as
painful as possible, and with a barbarity the proofs of which one would
hesitate to admit, if they did not emanate from him who was guilty of
it, he considered it necessary to have his victim shut up “in a dungeon
full of water, and from which one could not see the daylight.”[259]
Ferriol mentions this refinement of cruelty in his despatches, without
in the least appearing to regret it, and in his account, as well as in
the replies of the King and the Ministers to whom he addresses himself,
one seeks in vain, on the one hand, for an attempt at a justification,
and, on the other, for a disavowal, or at least for an expression of
surprise. In consequence of this silence the Government of Louis XIV.
bears its share of responsibility for the barbarous conduct of its
ambassador.

But the affection of the Armenians proved more powerful than Ferriol’s
hatred. The enormous sum of four hundred purses[260] was collected by
the schismatics, and tempted the cupidity of the Grand Vizier and his
principal officers. The promises made Ferriol were forgotten, and, a
year after having been deposed, Avedick re-ascended the patriarchal
throne.[261] “He has united himself with the Greeks,” wrote Ferriol
to Pontchartrain, “and I foresee terrible persecutions against the
Catholics.”[262] And, before assuring himself that there was any
foundation for these fears, the ambassador, whose mind is fruitful in
vigorous measures, immediately proposes a means, not of preventing
persecution, but of avenging himself for it in advance, and continuing
to set his enemies an example of violence. He requests the Pope and
the Grand Master of Malta to arrest the Greeks and Armenians who
navigate the waters of the Archipelago, or who may be found in the
islands, and to take possession of their effects and guard their
persons. As they had a very large number of vessels, and the isles
were open and without defence against a sudden attack, the ambassador
foresaw that the repression would necessarily be formidable.[263]

Which is the persecutor? This man so industrious in contriving these
rigorous measures, so prompt in taking advantage of his enemies, or the
Armenians, faithful to the religion of their fathers and withstanding
an impassioned and ardent proselytism? Which are the persecuted?
That since his exile to Abratadas, Avedick had conceived a violent
hatred against the Catholics must be admitted, and one cannot be
astonished at his having done so. But it is undeniable that, having
quitted his prison and resumed his position as head of the Armenians,
he dissimulated his resentment and lived in peace with the Catholic
population. “He makes no move,” wrote Ferriol on January 20, 1705, and
on March 11: “He behaves with great respect, and religious affairs are
very tranquil here.” “Avedick causes no annoyance to the Catholics,” we
read in a despatch of August 13. But the ambassador immediately adds,
“I hope that he will burst forth, and I shall not lose the occasion of
destroying him.”[264] “I shall not give him,” writes he to the Cardinal
de Janson, “a moment of rest; knowing him to be a very wicked man and
capable of great dissimulation.”[265]

With the view of consolidating a peace which he believed might be made
definitive, Avedick proceeded, on December 26, 1705, to the French
embassy.[266] He presented himself there neither as a suppliant nor out
of bravado. Accompanied by three hundred Armenians of good standing,
he came to propose to the representative of the Protector of the
Catholic religion in the Levant to forbid in his churches the anathemas
launched against certain heretics, and he asked that the Jesuits, who
had long since received permission to preach in the Turkish language
in the Armenian places of worship, should do so without passion and
with moderation. Far from being disarmed by this proud but by no means
provocatory proceeding, Ferriol characterized it as impudent,[267]
and avowed that if he had not previously given him a safe conduct, he
should certainly have had the Patriarch arrested. His aversion suffered
neither truce nor repose. Not feeling himself sufficiently powerful to
arrive single-handed at his ends, he stirred up among the Armenians
themselves adversaries to his enemy. He encouraged the ambitious
patriarch of Sissem, who aspired to replace Avedick as Grand Patriarch,
receiving him in the palace of the embassy,[268] supporting him with
his influence and aiding him with his counsels. At length, after a
year of constant efforts, of corruption practised among the officers
of the Divan, of threats, intrigues, and underhand manœuvres of every
kind, Ferriol had the satisfaction of being able to announce to Louis
XIV.[269] that Avedick had been deposed for the second time, and for
the third time sent into exile.

It was, then, with the view of rendering this fall final, and in order
to disembarrass himself for ever of his enemy, that Ferriol imagined,
in the middle of the eighteenth century, one of the most violent and
strangest acts that a representative of a civilized nation could ever
have dared to commit. It was he who had the sad honour of having
conceived the plan. But a despatch,[270] which tells overwhelmingly
against the Catholic missionaries, proves clearly that their incitement
induced Ferriol to regard this act as indispensable, and that, by never
ceasing to recall to the ambassador the pretended dangers which the
Patriarch, exiled and powerless, still offered, they determined him in
his resolution to have recourse to an abduction.

Avedick was deposed on February 25, 1706. Two months afterwards he
was carried into exile. On April 20, he left Constantinople, which he
was never to see again, and his beloved Armenians, from whom he was
this time being separated for ever, and for whom, during the whole of
their lives, he was about to become the object of anxious care, of
constant regret, and of incessant but fruitless researches. Ferriol
had bought over the _Chiaoux_ in charge of the ex-Patriarch, and had
forwarded instructions to the Sieur Bonnal, vice-consul at Chio, on
his passage through which Avedick had to stop for a few hours.[271]
It was here that a most audacious crime against the law of nations was
committed. Bonnal, assisted by Father Tarillon, a Jesuit,[272] had,
according to Ferriol’s injunctions, chartered a small merchant-vessel,
commanded by a Frenchman, who received orders to proceed to Marseilles.
On his arrival at Chio, the bribed _Chiaoux_ delivered up the great
personage committed to his charge, and the representative of Louis
XIV., accompanied by the Jesuit Tarillon, took possession of the
Sultan’s subject and imprisoned him on board the French ship. There
was no obstacle to the abduction, and the protestations of the old man
against this abuse of force were vain, and remained without response.
During the voyage no pirates were encountered as Ferriol feared there
might be,[273] and as, doubtless, the prisoner hoped for, since to fall
into their hands would have been a hundred times preferable to the
treatment which was reserved for him in France. Nevertheless it was
given to him to indulge in some hope. Contrary winds drove the vessel
to Genoa.[274] There Avedick, watched over as he is by his gaoler,
eludes his vigilance and confides to a Greek, named Spartaly, two
letters, one addressed to Maurocordato, first interpreter of the Porte,
the other to the Armenian Theodat, in which he names the persons
concerned in his abduction and demands vengeance. But misfortune seems
to have been inexorable to the ex-Patriarch. Spartaly sailed to Smyrna
on board an English ship, and was about to proceed to Constantinople
with the revelatory letters, when he meets and imparts his secret to
Justimany, another Greek of Chio, who forthwith sells his compatriot’s
secret to the French consul.[275] The latter, perfectly understanding
the importance of the revelation, sends for Spartaly, buys him over in
his turn, and detains him at Smyrna. Whilst he is sending to Ferriol
the intercepted letters, which, instead of saving the prisoner, are
about to draw down upon him greater rigour, Avedick, indulging in the
belief that he can count upon their happy effect, and anticipating an
early release, arrives at Marseilles, is delivered into the hands of M.
de Montmor, intendant of the galleys, and thrown into the dungeons of
the Arsenal.[276]


FOOTNOTES:

[248] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey,
_Déclaration Authentique de M. Pétis de la Croix, Secrétaire-Interprète
du Roi en Langues Turque, Arabe, et autres Orientales_, which will be
quoted hereafter.

[249] Avedick or Arwedik, or Aviedik. In the present work Ferriol’s
orthography has been adopted.

[250] Unpublished despatch of Ferriol to the Cardinal de Janson, April
10, 1702:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey,
37.

[251] _Ibid._ “At this moment the Grand Mufti, so to speak, governs the
empire.”

[252] Unpublished despatch from Ferriol to Louis XIV., December 31,
1701:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 37.

[253] Unpublished letters of Ferriol to Count de Pontchartrain, May 11
and June 8, 1702, and to Louis XIV., October 2, 1702:--Archives of the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 39.

[254] Unpublished letter of Ferriol to Louis XIV., May 1, 1703:--_Ibid._

[255] Unpublished letter from Ferriol to the Kiaya of the Grand Vizier,
May 14, 1703:--_Ibid._

[256] Unpublished despatch from Ferriol to Louis XIV., July 23,
1703:--_Ibid._ The revolt commenced July 17.

[257] Unpublished despatch from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, September 18,
1703. The fortress of the Seven Towers was at that time the principal
State prison of Constantinople.

[258] Unpublished despatches from Ferriol to Louis XIV., November 9,
1703, and from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, November 11, 1703:--Archives
of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 39.

[259] Despatch from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, June 12, 1704.

[260] Or in money of to-day, 880,000 francs (35,200_l._) There used to
be purses of silver and purses of gold, the latter much the less common
and worth 6,750_l._ sterling, or 148,500 livres (francs). There can be
no question that purses of gold are not referred to, since four hundred
of these would amount to an exorbitant sum, beyond the resources of the
richest Armenians. Moreover, when the word _purse_ is used alone, it is
to be understood in the sense of purse of silver:--_Encyclopédie des
Sciences, des Arts, et des Métiers_, vol. x. p. 655; Edition of 1765.
According to the _Notices et Extraits des Manuscrits de la Bibliothèque
du Roi_, vol i. p. 191, note S, the purse was worth 500 piastres. This
piastre not being an imitation of the Spanish piastre, but a piece
of money peculiar to Turkey, which in 1753 was worth 4fr. 40 c.; we
thus get for the 400 purses, the sum collected by the Armenians, and
mentioned in the despatch, the figure of 880,000 francs.

[261] Unpublished despatch from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, December 16,
1704:--Archives of Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 41.

[262] _Ibid._

[263] Unpublished despatch from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, of December
16, 1704:--_Ibid._

[264] Letters from Ferriol to Louis XIV. and to Cardinal de Janson.

[265] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 41.

[266] Letter from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, December 17, 1705.

[267] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 41.

[268] Unpublished despatch from Ferriol to Cardinal de Janson,
September 16, 1705.

[269] Despatch of February 25, 1706.

[270] Unpublished letter from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, February 2,
1708. “I have examined myself attentively, and if any one has urged
me to a violent resolution against Avedick, I should say that it was
Father Hyacinthe alone, who every day exaggerated to me his wickedness
and crimes:”--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section
Turkey, 45.

[271] Despatches from Ferriol to Louis XIV., May 6 and June 1, 1706,
already given by the Chevalier de Taulès, with six others which we
shall indicate when we have to make use of them.

[272] Memorandum of the Marquis de Bonnac, French ambassador to Turkey
in 1724:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

[273] Letters from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, May 6, and to Louis XIV.,
June 1, 1706.

[274] Unpublished letter from Ferriol to Ponchartrain, February 19,
1707:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 45.

[275] Royer by name. All these details are taken from the unpublished
despatch already quoted. Royer placed Justimany under the protection of
France with the view of preventing him from being molested in the event
of his treason being discovered.

[276] Letter from Ferriol to Louis XIV., June 1, 1706. Letter from
Louis XIV., November 10, 1706. _Correspondance Administrative du Règne
de Louis XIV._, vol. iv. p. 255, collected by M. Depping and finished
with much care by his son, M. Guillaume Depping, of the Bibliothèque
Impériale. In this work several despatches relating to Avedick are
given, of which we shall continue to indicate the source as we make use
of them. It is by means of these despatches, and of the unpublished
ones from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, that we are enabled to
relate the Patriarch’s end, even to the smallest details.




                             CHAPTER XIII.

 The Chevalier de Taulès--How he was led to believe that Avedick
 was the Man with the Iron Mask--A clear Proof furnished him of the
 impossibility of his Theory--Taulès persists and accuses the Jesuit
 Fathers of Forgery--Examination of Dujonca’s Journal--Its complete
 Authenticity and the unaffected Sincerity of the Writer cannot be
 doubted--New Proofs of this Authenticity and of Dujonca’s Exactitude.


“I have discovered the Man with the Iron Mask, and it is my duty to
render an account to Europe and to posterity of my discovery,” exclaims
the Chevalier de Taulès,[277] with a conviction which posterity does
not share, and a solemnity of manner so little justified by results,
that an extreme reserve is imposed on those who venture after him to
engage in a pursuit so fruitful in checks.

The intelligence of this discovery was at first received with a
confidence which was explained by the position of the individual
who claimed to have made it. Sprung from one of the oldest and most
respectable families of Bearn; admitted, in 1754, into the gendarmes
of the King’s Guard; starting, ten years afterwards, in the career of
diplomacy, which he pursued always with honour, sometimes with success;
sent successively to Switzerland, Poland, and later to Syria, as
consul-general; corresponding on terms of friendship with Voltaire,
who showed some deference for his opinions;[278] M. de Taulès enjoyed
among his contemporaries an authority due as much to the qualities
of his mind as to his honourable character. He had lived through the
first Empire without desiring to re-enter the service of the State, and
had devoted to historical studies the leisure which his independent
spirit had created. It was the perusal of an unpublished manuscript
memorandum of the Marquis de Bonnac, ambassador at Constantinople,
that revealed to Taulès the existence of the Grand Patriarch, Avedick,
and his abduction by Ferriol. The writer of this memorandum added
that Avedick had been afterwards sent to the Isles Sainte-Marguerite,
and then transferred to the Bastille, where he had died. “On reading
this passage,” says Taulès, “the thought suddenly struck me that this
individual might very well be the Iron Mask. Becoming subsequently
more and more confirmed in this conjecture by a number of facts which
the perusal of the memorandum had confusedly recalled to me, I said to
myself, with fresh assurance, ‘Yes, it is himself: this is the Iron
Mask!’”[279]

In truth, this very natural thought must arise in the mind of every one
who reads this memorandum; and if Taulès believed that he at length
possessed the solution of the problem, there were many others who
would have felt equally self-persuaded. His only fault--but it was a
great one--was that of obstinately holding to this opinion when a more
complete study of the question would have shown him his error; and of
endeavouring to support his theory when it was being shattered, by an
accusation of forgery as grave as it was unjust.

Assuredly, the interest which Louis XIV. had in hiding the existence
of such a prisoner as Avedick, the indispensability there was of
shrouding from every eye the victim of so enormous a crime against the
law of nations, the necessity, too, of removing from the ex-Patriarch
every means of informing the Ottoman Porte of the country where he was
detained, the clamour which his disappearance had caused throughout
the entire East, the precarious situation in which the King of France
then found himself, constrained as he was to treat Turkey with
consideration, were all so many arguments that crowded upon the mind
in favour of Taulès’ opinion. This theory presented, moreover, the
advantage of explaining several circumstances, true or supposed, in
the life of Saint-Mars’ mysterious prisoner. For instance, the silence
almost constantly observed by him, which caused it to be continually
said that he was condemned to it under pain of death, was accounted
for by the Armenian Patriarch’s ignorance of our language. Again, that
strange accent noticed by the surgeon Nélaton, in a visit made by
him to the Bastille,[280] and which struck him in the few syllables
articulated by the prisoner, finds its natural explanation in Avedick.
The famous reply of Louis XV. to his valet-de-chambre, Laborde, who
questioned him about the Man with the Iron Mask, “The imprisonment of
this unfortunate individual has wronged nobody but himself,” applied
sufficiently exactly to the Patriarch. Lastly, in default of those
official despatches, which, to-day, a sovereign and indispensable
proof, alone allow one to erect a theory upon a firm basis, the
suggestion of Taulès united in its favour several strong presumptions,
and did not at the outset meet with any fundamental objection.

But the originator was not to experience for long an unmixed joy. His
conviction was most firmly rooted. “Perhaps nothing,” he says, “has
ever appeared to me so very plainly. _I do not more clearly feel my
existence than I recognize the Patriarch in all the features of the
Iron Mask._”[281] All at once, the Minister of Foreign Affairs,[282]
who had ordered researches to be made among his archives, caused the
Chevalier de Taulès to be informed that an important Armenian personage
had really been abducted from Constantinople and taken to France, but
that as indisputable despatches established the fact that he was still
in Turkey during the early part of 1706, he could not be the prisoner
brought by Saint-Mars from the Isles Sainte-Marguerite to the Bastille
on September 18, 1698, and who died in that fortress on November 19,
1703. Taulès at first accepted with resignation this truly startling
revelation. His theory was completely overthrown, his reasoning
destroyed, his discovery annihilated. He acknowledged it. He regretted
not having sooner recalled that maxim which he had often heard repeated
by D’Alembert himself, “In this world one must neither deny nor affirm
anything.” He avowed his mistake, and the man of sense gracefully
repaired the very excusable error committed by the historian. But
his theory had become so profoundly and tenaciously impressed upon
his brain, that he could not entirely rid himself of it. A germ
remained which developed by degrees, and in a fashion which of itself
deserves attention, independently of the interest which is inspired by
everything that relates to the Man with the Iron Mask.

“Is it possible,” Taulès asks himself, “that a proof so powerful
can yet leave me any resources? To argue in the train of a _fact so
destructive to my opinion_, and the truth of which I am obliged to
admit, would it not be endeavouring in a deliberate manner to push
prejudice to its utmost length?”[283] We see that at first Taulès did
not contest the accuracy of the two dates, and the impossibility of
reconciling them with his theory; but by degrees he modifies the terms
of the problem to be resolved. He no longer makes it his business to
discover who was the Man with the Iron Mask, but to prove, in spite of
a capital objection, that the Man with the Iron Mask was Avedick. This
fact is worthy of remark, and the chain of Taulès’ successive ideas is
here very significant. He does not commence by seeking if a forgery
has been committed by the Jesuits, in order to establish afterwards
that Avedick is the Man with the Iron Mask. No. It is the necessity
in which he believes himself placed, of establishing this identity,
that first gives him the idea of a forgery, then we have his inquiry,
and then the certainty that this forgery has been committed. “However
bold my observation may appear, I shall dare to make it, _I feel hope
revive in my soul_, and in spite of all I have just avowed against
myself, I do not renounce my discovery.... If I am deceiving myself, I
shall deserve to be doubly confounded. But if, as everything assures
me I shall do, I come victorious out of this struggle, confusion
will altogether be the portion of those who have wished to deprive
me of the honour of this discovery.”[284] From this time all Taulès’
efforts tended to destroy the positive information till then accepted
by him. Not being able to deny the authenticity of the despatches of
the Ministry of Foreign Affairs establishing that Avedick was still at
Constantinople in 1706, and this obstacle being insurmountable, Taulès
directed his attention towards Dujonca’s journal. Father Griffet was
the first who quoted[285] the two pages of this journal relating to the
mysterious prisoner and bearing the dates of September 19, 1698, the
day of his arrival at the Bastille, and of November 18, 1703, the day
of his death. But Father Griffet was a Jesuit. On this score, and in
the interest, in his eyes superior to all other, of the order to which
he belonged, might he not have been able to alter, to falsify this
document, in such a manner that it might be opposed to those who should
one day, perhaps, arise to accuse the Jesuits of the abduction of
Avedick, and perhaps see in this individual the Man with the Iron Mask?
This suspicion had scarcely entered the mind of Taulès before it took
possession of it and ruled it, when everything immediately became for
him an irresistible argument for, and formal proof of a falsification.

This journal is divided into two parts, each forming a volume. The
first has for title: “List of prisoners who are sent by the King’s
order to the Bastille, to commence from Wednesday the eleventh of the
month of October, when I am entered into the office of Lieutenant of
the King, in the year 1690,” and at the back of folio 37 we have word
for word what follows:--

“On thursday 18th September 1698, at 3 o’clock of the afternoon,
Monsieur de St.-Mars governor of the château of the bastille has
arrived to enter upon his functions coming from his government of the
isles St.-Marguerite honorat having brought with him in his litter an
old prisoner whom he had at pignerol whom he always kept masked [and]
whose name was not mentioned and having had him placed on leaving the
litter in the first chamber of the tower of the bassinnière until the
night in order to place him and conduct him myself at 9 o’clock of the
evening with M. de rosarges one of the sergeants whom monsieur the
governor had brought into the third chamber south of the tower of the
Bretaudière[286] which I had had furnished with everything some days
before his arrival having received Monsieur de St.-Mars’ order for it
which prisoner will be subject to and served by Mr. de rosarge and
provisioned by monsieur the Governor.”

The second part, of which the title is, “List of prisoners who left the
Bastille, to commence from the eleventh of the month of October, when I
am entered into possession in the year 1690,” contains, at the back of
folio 80, what follows:--

“On the same day monday 19th november 1703----the unknown prisoner
always masked with a mask of black velvet whom Monsieur de St.-Mars
governor had brought with him on coming from the isles St.-Marguerite
whom he had guarded since a long time [and] who having found himself
yesterday rather ill on leaving mass died to-day at ten o’clock at
night without having had any great illness he could not have had less.
M. Giraut our chaplain confessed him yesterday [but] surprised by his
death he has not received the sacraments and our chaplain exhorted him
a moment before dying and this unknown prisoner so long detained was
interred on tuesday 20th november at four o’clock of the afternoon in
the cemetery of St-Paul our parish on the register of deaths [**symbol]
was also given a name unknown to monsieur de rosarges major and Mr.
Reil surgeon who have signed the register.

“[**symbol] I have since learnt that he was named on the register M. de
Marchiel [and] that 40 l. were paid for his burial.”[287]

For every unprejudiced and impartial reader, these unaffected pages
are conclusive, and do not inspire any doubt. But it is not the same
for Taulès. According to him, Father Griffet himself, and not Dujonca,
is the author of this document, in which, with infinite art, he has
introduced several points of obscurity, and succeeded in misleading
for ever all those who should be tempted to raise the veil. He has
commenced by imagining the two dates of 1698 and 1703, so that it would
be impossible to apply them to Avedick, who was still at Constantinople
in 1706. It is designedly that, with an infinity of precautions, he has
drawn attention to this fact which he had invented at will: “Saint-Mars
had this prisoner at Pignerol,” a point on which he insists by saying
further on: “This prisoner whom he had guarded since a long time.” To
make Dujonca twice affirm that the Man with the Iron Mask was first
detained at Pignerol of course absolutely sets Avedick aside. The
affectation of speaking several times of the Abbé Giraut, chaplain of
the Bastille, is equally significant to Taulès, in so much that it
reveals the cunning intention of carefully avoiding having to name
the Jesuits, even when it concerns the Bastille, to which one of them
was constantly attached. It is true that the registers of the Church
of Saint-Paul confirm Dujonca’s journal, since the interment of the
prisoner is related in them under the date of November 20, 1703.[288]
But this objection does not embarrass Taulès. Without going so far as
to suppose that these registers have also been falsified, he is very
willing to accept them as authentic. “But,” says he, “this prisoner
interred November 20, 1703, is not the one brought by Saint-Mars to
the Bastille. It is some obscure stranger, and Father Griffet finding
on the registers of this church the proof of his death in 1703, has
used it as a basis on which to erect his falsehoods, and by attracting
to him the exclusive attention of posterity, has turned it aside
from Avedick, and has necessarily rendered ulterior investigations
fruitless.”

But it is nothing of the kind. In this painful episode of Louis XIV.’s
reign, the Jesuits have their share of responsibility, owing to the
pressure which they put upon Ferriol, but they are completely innocent
of the forgeries of which they have been accused.

The perfect authenticity of Dujonca’s journal is shown by many proofs.
It suffices to have read it and assured oneself that it is not composed
of detached leaves afterwards bound together, but has been written all
entire by the same incorrect and simple pen, in order to be convinced
of the impossibility of the least alteration. Either it is a forgery
from beginning to end, or the pages relating to the Iron Mask have
for their author that kind of general superintendent of the Bastille,
sometimes too pompously styled Lieutenant of the King, sometimes
fulfilling the humble functions of turnkey, devoted to his multifarious
duties,[289] who ought to be believed for his ignorance of certain
things as much as for his complete knowledge of others, for the
unfeigned simplicity of his language, and the tone of sincere assurance
that runs uniformly throughout the entire journal. Moreover, not only
is all that concerns the other prisoners corroborated by indisputable
despatches deposited in other archives,[290] but the most reliable
documents absolutely confirm the dates, and even some of the points
indicated in the two accounts we have just quoted. Dujonca says in
the first: “I had had his chamber furnished with everything some days
before his arrival, _having received M. de Saint-Mars’ order for it_.”
Now a despatch as yet unpublished and of especial importance contains
what follows: “Barbézieux to Saint-Mars.--Marly, July 19, 1698--I have
received the letter which you have taken the trouble to write to me the
9th of this month. The King finds it good that you should leave the
Isles Sainte-Marguerite to go to the Bastille with your old prisoner,
taking your precautions to prevent his being either seen or known by
any one. _You can write in advance to His Majesty’s Lieutenant of this
château to have a chamber ready so as to be able to place your prisoner
in it on your arrival._”

This despatch cannot be questioned. It exists in the archives of the
Ministry of War. It was written by the Minister, Barbézieux, a short
time previous to Saint-Mars’ departure for the Bastille, and like many
others which we shall quote hereafter, it establishes in a formal
manner that in 1698, and not later, the Man with the Iron Mask entered
the Bastille, and that no alteration has consequently been made in
Dujonca’s journal.

But to these definitive proofs let us add others drawn from Avedick’s
very singular end. Let us return to this individual at the moment when
he treads the French soil for the first time, and let us follow him
to his death, less in order to complete our demonstration that he is
not the Man with the Iron Mask--which would be superfluous--than to
throw every light upon this little-known individual, and pursue to its
_dénoûment_ the story of this extraordinary crime.


FOOTNOTES:

[277] _L’Homme au Masque de Fer: Mémoire Historique par le Chevalier de
Taulès, ancien consul-général en Syrie_, p. 1.

[278] From 1752 to 1768, Taulès and Voltaire had a long and interesting
correspondence, published by Gaultier-Laguionie (Paris, 1825), at the
end of various memoirs of Taulès.

[279] _L’Homme au Masque de Fer: Mémoire Historique_, p. 21.

[280] This has already been referred to in Chapter VIII. of this work.
See page 93 _ante_.

[281] _L’Homme au Masque de Fer_, p. 61.

[282] M. de Vergennes.

[283] _L’Homme au Masque de Fer_, p. 62.

[284] _L’Homme au Masque de Fer_, p. 63.

[285] In his _Traité des Differentes Sortes de Preuves qui servent à
établir la Vérité dans l’Histoire_.

[286] This and the tower mentioned just above are supposed to have been
named after their builders.--_Trans._

[287] Archives of the Library of the Arsenal, Manuscript Journal of
Dujonca.

[288] Archives of the Hôtel de Ville, _Registres des Baptêmes, Mariages
et Sépultures de la Paroisse de Saint-Paul_: Saint-Paul 5, 1703-1705,
vol. ii No. 166.

[289] I have found among the Archives of the Arsenal another document
also emanating from the pen of Dujonca, whose journal up to the present
time was alone known. These are notes in which he enumerates the heavy
occupations that weighed him down. This document throws a certain light
upon the interior arrangements of the Bastille. It is the same large
writing as that of the Journal, with the same faults of language, the
same simple-mindedness. It is too long to be quoted here. I merely
extract the statement of everything that Dujonca had to do.

“For more than a year since I have entered the Bastille I have been
obliged to perform the service which follows:--

“To rise every morning the first and to go to bed the last--To place
the guard very often instead of the officers of Monsieur de Besemaux;
to make the round and the visit every evening in the uncertainty as to
whether these gentlemen will do it; to close the doors very often, not
being able to rely upon any one--To take every care of the guard of
the château, being unable either to trust or rely upon the governor’s
two officers, who do only what pleases them, and render account of
what passes only to Monsieur de Besemaux--When Monsieur de la Venice
or other commissaries come to interrogate prisoners, it is necessary
to go and take them from their chamber and to lead them into Monsieur
de Besemaux’s room, traversing all the courts, and it is necessary to
wait outside the door very often for eight hours at a time, in order to
retake possession of the prisoner, and conduct him back to the place
whence he had been taken--The prisoners to whom it is permitted to
see visitors it is also necessary to go and take from their chambers,
to lead them through all the courts into the common room, where the
relations or friends await them, and it is very often necessary to
remain with them quite as long as they wish, being obliged to keep them
in sight, and afterwards to take them back again--It is necessary to
have the same care and application for certain people of the reformed
religion, who are seen and talked to by Father Bordes, M. Latour Dalier
and Madame Chardon, in order to convert them--To follow and guard the
prisoners who have permission to go and walk in the garden and on the
terrace from time to time. All the sick prisoners it is necessary to
go and visit often, and to take care of them--Those who have need of
the doctor and apothecary, it is necessary to conduct where the sick
go; and in order to be more assured of what passes and of the remedies
which they are ordered to take, it is necessary to be present when they
are brought to them--For the prisoner who is very ill and in danger
of death, it is necessary to redouble all these cares in order to
make him confess and receive all the sacraments, and when he is dead
it is necessary to fulfil all the duties of a good Christian--On the
arrival of a prisoner who is to be confined it is necessary to commence
by examining and searching him all over, as well as the whole of his
clothing, and to conduct him to the chamber assigned to him. Moreover,
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 Monsieur de Besemaux’s upholsterer, or else the _maîtresse
d’autel_--It is necessary, also, to search all the confined prisoners
who obtain their entire liberty, and to examine their clothes before
they leave in consequence of the great communication which exists
between the prisoners. It is necessary also to take the same care in
searching the prisoners who are confined in order to place them in the
liberty of the court, which happens sufficiently often--To visit all
the chambers and to search everywhere, even all the prisoners and their
clothing--It is also necessary to examine everything which comes from
without for the prisoners confined here, and their clothing that goes
out, in order to be mended or washed--Amongst the number of prisoners
there are some who daily find themselves in necessity or need of
something, or else of some complaint of their food, or of the bad usage
of the turnkeys who attend upon them, which prisoners in their distress
are compelled to beat their doors so as to give notice of their wants;
these are occasions which often happen and cause a great noise, so that
it is necessary to go and make frequent visits--It is necessary to pay
attention to the food given the prisoners, being very often bad, with
bad wine and dirty table-linen--To frequently examine all the plate
usually used for the prisoners confined here, _who very often write
on the dishes and plates in order to give news of themselves to one
another_--To keep guard over and carefully observe all the persons who
enter the Bastille, especially the women and girls who come to see
the prisoners who are in the liberty of the court--On the principal
festivals of the year it is necessary to take every care to make those
prisoners who are allowed by orders to do so, confess, hear mass, and
communicate--To go several times during the day and the evening on to
the platforms outside the château, in order to prevent the prisoners
in one tower talking to those in another, and to send soldiers in
the neighbourhood of the Bastille in order to arrest the persons who
make signs to the prisoners whom they know, and very often these are
prisoners who have received their liberty wishing to render service to
those who remain, there being communication everywhere, and the cause
of all these disorders.”

[290] A single example will suffice. The person confined in the
Bastille a few days before the Iron Mask is, according to Dujonca,
the famous Madame Guyon, and a letter from Count de Pontchartrain to
Saint-Mars, of November 3, 1698, says: “As for Madame Guyon, it is not
necessary to do anything with reference to her except by the advice
of the Archbishop:”--Imperial Archives, Registers of the Secretary’s
office of the King’s Household.




                             CHAPTER XIV.

 Avedick is at first confined in the Prisons of the Arsenal--From
 Marseilles he is conducted to Mount Saint-Michel--Description of
 Mount Saint-Michel--Treatment to which Avedick is exposed--His
 useless Protestations against this Abuse of Force--Universal Emotion
 excited throughout the East--Complaints of the Divan--Ferriol’s
 Impudence--Terrible Reprisals practised on the Catholics--False
 Avedicks--Expedients to which Ferriol is reduced--Inquietude of
 the Roman Court--Duplicity of Louis XIV.’s Government--Avedick
 is transferred to the Bastille--Suggestions of which he is the
 Object--He abjures and is set at Liberty--He dies at Paris in the Rue
 Férou--Delusive Document drawn up with Reference to this Death--Share
 of Responsibility which attaches to each of the Authors of the
 Abduction.


It was not at Marseilles that Avedick was detained, neither was he
sent, as has been said, to Messina, or to the Isles Sainte-Marguerite
to be imprisoned. Louis XIV. was too prudent and too circumspect
to leave in a port of the Mediterranean an individual whom his
co-religionists, supported by the Ottoman Porte, were energetically
demanding and seeking with anxious solicitude. Directly the Government
of Louis XIV. was advised of the outcry which the disappearance of
the Grand Patriarch had excited in the East, an Exempt was sent to
Marseilles, to M. de Montmor, intendant of the galleys, in order to
withdraw Avedick from the prisons of the Arsenal, and conduct him,
“under good and sure guard,” to the other extremity of France. At the
same time it was enjoined “to all governors, mayors, syndics, and other
officials, to give the Exempt every protection, aid, and assistance in
case of need,”[291] rather an unnecessary precaution in the case of
this weak and inoffensive old man.

Near the ancient boundary of Brittany and Normandy,[292] rises a
narrow rock surrounded on all sides by the waves, or by quicksands
left uncovered by the sea when it falls at every tide. These sands,
which extend to the firm land over a distance of nearly a couple of
miles, are rendered very dangerous to cross by the mouths of several
small streams.[293] On this rock, impressed with a savage grandeur,
some monks had, in the eighth century,[294] constructed a monastery,
where they lived isolated from the rest of the world, from which they
were sometimes separated by vast plains of sand, and sometimes by
the waters of the sea at regular but not far distant intervals. It
was to this Abbey of Mount Saint-Michel, occupied by Benedictines,
alternately devoting themselves to work and prayer, that the Grand
Patriarch of the Armenians was conducted. The Prior of the abbey
received orders to strictly guard the prisoner brought to him,
“without allowing him to hold communication with any one, either by
word of mouth or by writing,”[295] a very superfluous precaution in
the case of an Armenian whose language nobody knew, who was ignorant
of French, and who found himself in the midst of monks who from his
arrival were taught to curse him. He was represented to them, indeed,
as a detestable persecutor of Catholics[296]--this man who had been
three times exiled and twice deposed by them, snatched violently from
his country, at one time cast upon the coast of Syria and confined in
a dungeon into which the water penetrated, at another carried into
a strange land, thousands of miles from his native land, where for
five years he was to drag out a miserable existence and then die. An
object of horror to the monks, doubly exiled in this place of exile,
like them separated from the world by obstacles almost as insuperable
as those which parted them, separated from them also by the repulsion
which he inspired, more unhappy still than in his first prison, where
at least he breathed the air of his native land, Avedick could not even
preserve the hope of being delivered. That consolatory prospect which
his meeting with Spartaly at Genoa had permitted him to entertain, he
was now obliged to renounce; since, even supposing that his letters had
reached the Ottoman Porte,[297] no one would dream of coming to seek
him on so distant and desert a coast. As far as his gaze extended he
could expect to see no vessel of deliverance appear. Whether the sea
covered the sands or whether it ebbed and left them dry, there was the
same frightful solitude, the same mournful silence, broken at times by
the roar of the waves beating against the rock, or by the peaceful and
monotonous chants of the monks.

For ten months he listened to their prayers without being allowed to
take part in them, and he lived in the most absolute isolation. But on
July 13, 1707, Pontchartrain wrote to the Prior of Mount Saint-Michel
that he might allow the prisoner to hear mass, and even admit him to
confession. “The King,” he added, “does not pretend to deprive him of
the succour which he might find in this sacrament; and his Majesty has
merely thought that, before admitting him to it, you ought to have
him examined with especial care, as it is to be feared, from what has
already happened, that his devotion is only feigned and illusory, in
order to deceive and induce you to guard him with less care.”[298]
Singular fear of a flight, impracticable in itself, and impossible
to be prolonged for any length of time in a country where all was
strange and hostile to him! Pontchartrain requested the General of the
Benedictines at Rome to send to Mount Saint-Michel a monk learned in
Oriental languages, to whom the most absolute discretion was prescribed
with respect to the disclosures which Avedick might make to him
otherwise than under the seal of confession,[299] but which were not
to be kept secret from the Prior, who was charged to transmit them to
the Minister. Thus it was that they did not content themselves with
detaining the person of the Patriarch: they endeavoured to penetrate
to the recesses of his soul, with the view of enlightening themselves
upon the true sentiments,[300] and possibly upon the projects of the
prisoner. The first word that he utters, and which can be understood,
is a protest of right against might. “Let them judge me,” he says,[301]
“and condemn me to the punishment that I deserve; or, if I am innocent,
let it be proclaimed, and let them set me at liberty!”

He was neither judged nor set at liberty; and his protest, forwarded by
the Prior to Versailles, was suppressed in Pontchartrain’s cabinet. It
is true that at the same time the most alarming intelligence reached
the Minister from Constantinople, coupled with the most pressing
entreaties from the court of the Vatican, and from the French embassy
at the Porte, to isolate and guard the prisoner more strictly still.

On receiving the news of Avedick’s disappearance, the officers of the
Divan and the Grand Vizier himself, justly excited, had demanded of
Ferriol what had become of him. The French ambassador answered with
assurance that the individual in question had not been given in charge
to him, and that no doubt the vessel on board which he had been carried
into exile was one of those English or Dutch corsairs which the Grand
Seignior tolerated, even in the Dardanelles, to the prejudice of his
custom-house officers and of the interests of his sovereignty.[302]
This attempted diversion did not succeed for any length of time.
English and Dutch, questioned in their turn, having no satisfactory
reply to give, the Grand Vizier ordered torture to be applied to the
_Chiaoux_ who had conducted Avedick to Chio; and in the midst of his
torments the wretch avowed the whole truth.[303] The Vizier at once
solemnly sent the _Chiaoux-Bachi_ to the French embassy in order
to claim Avedick as a subject of the Grand Seignior. Maurocordato,
the first interpreter of the Divan, presented himself a few minutes
afterwards to join his demands to those of the _Chiaoux-Bachi_, and
to insist that the abducted person should be immediately sent back
to Constantinople. The preciseness and energy of the demand did not
trouble Ferriol, and with great presence of mind he replied, “I
am ignorant of all that has happened; and truly I cannot have any
confidence in the depositions of the _Chiaoux_ charged to conduct
Avedick. He declared, on returning to Constantinople, that he had been
taken prisoner by a corsair. Who will say that the second deposition,
made during the torments of the torture, is more accurate than the
first? Moreover, if the French captain has carried off Avedick by force
to Italy or France, he will be punished. But may it not be the case
that the ex-Patriarch, fearing death in his third exile, has employed
the captain to take him to a place of safety?” Little satisfied with
this reply, Maurocordato threatened Ferriol, in the Sultan’s name,
with general persecutions against the Armenian Catholics. “If Avedick
is in France,” answered Ferriol, “I shall write with the view of his
being compelled to return. But the Grand Seignior is master of his own
subjects. He can have all the Armenians put to death indifferently,
without any such threat being able to make me acknowledge that of which
I am ignorant.”[304]

The threat was put into execution, and the Catholics, in whose
pretended interest Avedick was abducted, were the objects of a
frightful vengeance. A _hatti-cherif_ ordered the arrest of the
principal Armenians of the Latin rite,[305] nine of whom escaped
death by apostasy, and three intrepidly confessing their faith, died
martyrs near the Pama-Capou Gate;[306] several Armenians were put to
the torture and questioned during their torments as to the fate of
Avedick;[307] all proselytizing was interdicted to the Jesuits, and
the printing establishment which they had founded was destroyed; the
two Armenian patriarchs, who had authorised the Catholic missionaries
to preach in their churches, were arrested and thrown into prison; a
_barat_ of the Sultan recalled Avedick to the post of Grand Patriarch;
his _vekil_ or vicar, Joanes, was appointed to fulfil his duties _ad
interim_,[308] the measures of rigour and the proscriptions[309]
being increased from the moment of his elevation to power; all
the Catholics were obliged to fly or hide themselves; against them
universal fury was directed, amongst them were desolation and ruin;
such, at Constantinople and throughout the whole Turkish empire, were
the immediate and terrible consequences of Avedick’s abduction. So true
is it that violence invariably leads to violence, and that an abuse of
force is sooner or later followed by reprisals which, although they
are to be deplored, cannot be altogether condemned, since, if they are
without excuse, they, at least, have their explanation in an immutable
law common to all nations and all epochs!

This exasperation against the Catholics was equalled only by the
affection which their unfortunate victim inspired. In all the churches
prayers were said every evening for his prompt return. For a moment
it was believed that they were answered.[310] The news spread through
Constantinople that Avedick was at Rodosto, a town thirty leagues
off. Some Armenians immediately set off to meet him, with the view of
bringing him back in triumph. But they only found an impostor who had
succeeded in deceiving a large number of schismatics, and in collecting
a considerable sum in alms, by taking advantage of the enthusiasm
excited everywhere by the mere name of the Patriarch.[311]

All that concerned the fate of this beloved chief was sought after with
avidity, and accepted with a credulous but touching confidence. One
day an Armenian affirmed that he had seen him in Holland, and received
a magnificent present for this happy piece of news; he disappeared,
however, before it was discovered to be false.[312] Later, two Turkish
slaves from Malta affirmed that Avedick was detained there a prisoner.
They contrived by this artifice to get their ransoms paid, and the
false information brought by them not being devoid of probability, two
rich Armenians determined to charter a vessel and proceed to Malta to
claim the prisoner. Ferriol, called upon to furnish them with a letter
of recommendation both for Malta and for Rome, where they were to
continue their researches, ostensibly did so. But he secretly forwarded
by another channel to the Cardinal de la Trémouille, French ambassador
to the Holy See, a private despatch,[313] in which he recommended the
greatest circumspection and the exercise of an incessant surveillance
over the two Armenians.

With reference to the Divan, whose demands continued to be both precise
and firm, Ferriol, reduced to shifts, was always contriving fresh
artifices in order to appease the Grand Vizier’s resentment.[314]
At times he promised to send one of the officers of the embassy in
search of Avedick. Then the report having spread abroad that the Grand
Patriarch was confined at Messina, Ferriol engaged to beg the King of
France to demand of his grandson, Philip V., King of Spain, that he
should be set at liberty and sent back.[315] But he always affirmed
that he was a stranger to the abduction, and that he was entirely
ignorant of where Avedick was. On this last point, and on that only,
he was sincere. The government of Louis XIV. had concealed even from
its representative at Constantinople the transfer of the prisoner to
Mount Saint-Michel, and Ferriol, very well informed of every detail of
Avedick’s transport to Marseilles, had been prudently kept in the most
complete ignorance of ulterior decisions. But if he was unacquainted
with them, he at least inspired them by his spiteful insistance, by
his implacability in pursuing his enemy even in his most profound and
most irretrievable fall. “He does not care to demand the death of the
sinner,” he says, “but he must do penance, and must never be set at
liberty.” “If Avedick is in the prisons of the Holy Office,” we read
in another despatch, “he will never leave them; if he is in France, I
beg of you to order him to be placed in a dark chamber, from which he
can never behold the day.” “Whatever penance,” says he, elsewhere, “he
may perform for his crimes and for his persecution of the Latins, will
never be sufficiently great.”[316]

From Rome also the most earnest entreaties and the most pressing
recommendations “to confine the prisoner still more closely”[317]
reached Louis XIV. Twice did the Minister of Exterior Relations, the
Marquis de Torcy, charge the Cardinal de la Trémouille to remove the
inquietudes of the congregation of the Holy Office. “The orders to
redouble attention and watchfulness,” wrote Torcy, “have been renewed.
He is seen only by the person who gives him his food. They converse
only by signs, and, when he hears mass on fête-days and Sundays, he
is put in a place apart from all others.” At the same time,[318] the
Minister informed the Cardinal that the Armenians, who had come to
Marseilles, had departed again without being able to find any traces
of Avedick. “We know,” he added,[319] “that the valet of the Patriarch
is about to come from Leghorn to France, likewise with the view of
discovering what has become of his master. But on his arrival he will
be arrested and closely imprisoned.” These despatches were, we see,
of a nature to entirely reassure the Holy Office,[320] and Louis
XIV. showed himself as vigilant a guardian of Avedick’s person as he
had been, through his ambassador, the principal author, and, in his
despatches, the unreserved approver of the abduction.

He went further still, and entering in his turn on that path of
duplicity in which Ferriol had long since outstripped him, Louis XIV.
wrote to his representative near the Porte: “It is impossible for us
to satisfy the Grand Vizier’s demands with reference to Avedick. He is
no longer in a state to be sent living to Constantinople.”[321] Louis
XIV. added “that the news of his death had been given him, at the very
moment when, in order to be agreeable to the Grand Vizier, he was
having the Patriarch sought for in Spain and Italy with the view of
delivering him up to his legitimate sovereign.”

This prisoner, still sufficiently menacing and formidable at the bottom
of his dungeon for Rome as well as Versailles to be thus concerned
about his fate, this old man, the object of so many preoccupations,
and, throughout the whole of the Levant, of regrets which he did
not even have the consolation of knowing, was not thought to be
sufficiently surely isolated by the sands and the sea that surround
Mount Saint-Michel. The moats, the massive doors, and the towers of
the Bastille were considered necessary. “On December 18, 1709,” says
Dujonca in his journal, “there has entered a very important prisoner,
whose name was not mentioned.”[322] This was Avedick, whose death,
announced by Louis XIV., the majority of the Armenians had long since
been mourning. The same recommendations which the Prior of Mount
Saint-Michel had received were given to M. de Bernaville, governor
of the State prison, and he was forbidden “to allow the slightest
communication between his new prisoner and any other person.”[323]
However, Louis XIV. was not slow in authorising an exception to this
rule. A project, long since favoured by the King’s government, and the
execution of which would render it for ever impossible for Avedick
to return to Constantinople, was about to be realized. This was to
instruct him in the Catholic religion, to determine him to submit
to the authority of the Holy See, and thus to lead him to discredit
himself with those of his co-religionists who still doubted of his
death. Such was the end, for the accomplishment of which a monk had
been placed near the Patriarch during the two years of his stay at
Mount Saint-Michel. At the Bastille the suggestions became more
pressing, and Armenian books were given to him,[324] in which he might
learn the Catholic doctrines, and convince himself how narrow were
the grounds of difference which separated the Latin Armenians from
the schismatics. These he traversed, and, on September 22, 1710, he
abjured between the hands of the Cardinal de Noailles, Archbishop
of Paris, by an instrument written in the Armenian language, three
translations of which in Latin were delivered, one to the Cardinal,
another to the Minister of Exterior Relations, and the third to Avedick
himself.[325] A few days afterwards he was ordained priest in the
church of Notre-Dame. This abjuration was the only means Avedick had
of recovering his liberty; and, depressed by so many storms, he ceded,
after five years of close captivity, to the natural desire of breathing
a free air during the few remaining years that he had to live.

In the early part of 1711, an old man, bowed by adversity still more
than by weight of years, his countenance furrowed by deep wrinkles,
his eyesight nearly gone, might be seen every morning to leave a little
house in the Rue Férou, where he dwelt with his interpreter.[326]
Having preserved in his attire some remnant of the Armenian costume,
being a foreigner in language and manners, and sustaining by the aid of
a stick his enfeebled body, he attracted attention, and people followed
him with their glances to the church of Saint-Sulpice, to which he
was attached as priest, and where he every day said mass.[327] This
was the religious chief and civil protector of several millions of
Armenians, the enemy of Ferriol and of the Jesuits, and the vanquished
in the long struggle sustained against them. He did not long enjoy his
liberty, but died on July 21, 1711, ten months after having quitted the
Bastille, without relations or friends, having demanded and received
the consolations and the sacraments of that Roman Church[328] whose
ardent missionaries had been the cause of all his misfortunes. Thus
terminated this life, commenced in obscurity and misery, continued on
the patriarchal throne, crossed with unhoped-for elevations and sudden
falls, and completed mournfully in exile.

Louis XIV., exhausting precautions, and pushing imposture and mockery
to their extreme limits, had an instrument drawn up by the Lieutenant
of Police d’Argenson, in which were attested the King’s sorrow on
hearing of this death, and _the promptitude which the monarch had
shown_ _in giving liberty to the prisoner directly the foreigner had
been able to make it understood what his quality was_. By a singular
euphemism, Avedick was termed a _disgracié_, and Louis XIV. declared
that _he had never approved the violence, and still less the crimes,
which, unknown to his Majesty, had been committed in Turkey on the
person of the deceased_.[329] This lying document was to have been
sent to Constantinople in case the Porte should reclaim Avedick in too
menacing a manner. But it was unnecessary. Several changes of Grand
Viziers contributed to abate the demands, and to render them less
pressing. At long intervals the name of the ex-Patriarch recurred in
the conversations between the Ottoman prime minister and the French
ambassador;[330] then, by degrees, the Divan no longer occupied itself
with it. The remembrance of Avedick was less profoundly engrafted there
than in the grateful hearts of the Armenians.

But this is not the complete _dénoûment_ of the drama. At the very
time when Ferriol’s victim was dying, he himself was returning from
Constantinople insane, having been, two years since, replaced in his
post, which, with an extravagant pretension,[331] he had, however,
up to that time refused to quit. It was, in some measure, necessary
to use force to compel him to embark.[332] For a long time he had
recognized the enormous fault he had committed, and on January 6,
1709, had written to Torcy, “I know only of one thing for which people
can reproach me--it is the abduction of Avedick.”[333] But this was
not the cause of his recall, which was evidently entirely due to the
too certain signs of his insanity.[334] It cannot be denied that
Louis XIV.[335] approved the violation of the law of nations, of
which Avedick was the victim; and if the Catholic missionaries are
responsible for having suggested this crime, as Ferriol is for the
orders transmitted to Chio, the government of Louis XIV. is not the
less so for having prolonged and aggravated its consequences by the
treatment to which the prisoner was subjected.


FOOTNOTES:

[291] Order of Louis XIV., dated from Versailles, November 10,
1706:--_Correspondance Administrative du Règne de Louis XIV._, vol. iv.
p. 255.

[292] _Gallia Christiana_, vol. xi. p. 310: “In confinio Britonum ac
Normannorum, medio in mari.”

[293] Such as the Sée, Célune, and Coësnon.

[294] XVII. calend. Novembris, 709:--_Gallia Christiana_, vol. xi. p.
511.

[295] Letter from Louis XIV. to the Prior of Mount Saint-Michel,
November 10, 1706:--_Correspondance Administrative du Règne de Louis
XIV._, vol. iv. pp. 204 and 205.

[296] “He has been depicted to the King as a very great scoundrel
and as a persecutor of Catholics.” See letters from the Count de
Pontchartrain to the Prior of Mount Saint-Michel of July 13, 1707, and
August 22, 1708:--_Correspondance Administrative du Règne de Louis
XIV._, vol. iv. pp. 264 and 265.

[297] We have already seen (Chapter XII. p. 157 _ante_) that they were
intercepted and sent to Ferriol.

[298] Letter from Pontchartrain to the Prior of Mount Saint-Michel,
July 13, 1707.

[299] _Ibid._

[300] “One can change at any moment,” writes Pontchartrain, who was
already hoping for a conversion.

[301] Letter from the Count de Pontchartrain to the Prior of Mount
Saint-Michel, August 22, 1708.

[302] Unpublished despatch from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, June 1,
1706:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 45.

[303] Unpublished despatch from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, July 3,
1706:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 45.

[304] Unpublished despatch from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, July 6, 1706.

[305] La Motraye, work already quoted, p. 381.

[306] Unpublished despatch from Ferriol to Louis XIV., July 10,
1706:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 43.

[307] Unpublished despatch from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, July 10, 1706.

[308] Unpublished despatch from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, July 3,
1706:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 45.

[309] Unpublished letters from Ferriol to the Pope, November 30, 1707;
to the Cardinal de la Trémouille, November 4, 1707; and to the Marquis
de Torcy, December 5, 1707.

[310] Unpublished letter from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, July 6,
1706:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 45.

[311] This pseudo-Avedick was arrested and imprisoned in
Constantinople, but he managed to escape by applying the money he had
collected to corrupt his gaolers.

[312] Unpublished letter from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, May 15,
1707:--Archives of Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 45.

[313] Here are the two despatches, dated the same day and sent by
different channels:--“Pera, November 16, 1707.--Monseigneur--The
Grand Vizier, desiring that Avedick, the Patriarch of the schismatic
Armenians, who is said to have gone into Christian lands, should return
to Constantinople, sends two Armenians to Malta, named Hazadour, son
of Margos, and Donabit, son of Yartan, in order to search for the said
Patriarch Avedick, and to bring him back to Constantinople, two Turks,
formerly at Malta, having assured the Grand Vizier that they had seen
him there two months and a half ago. As I have nothing so much at heart
as to please the Grand Vizier, I have given passports to the Armenians
and a letter of recommendation for M. le Bailli de Tincourt, to the end
that they may have every sort of liberty to seek and bring here the
said Patriarch Avedick, and return to Constantinople when it shall seem
good to them, without suffering any difficulty or impediment; but that
on the contrary every kind of assistance should be given to them. As,
however, the Turks, who were slaves at Malta, asserted that the said
Patriarch Avedick was going on to Rome, I beg your Eminence very humbly
to render every kind of assistance to the Armenians, to facilitate
their search for the Patriarch Avedick, and give them the means of
bringing him back to Constantinople in all security.”

Here is now the secret despatch:--“Pera, November 16,
1707.--Monseigneur--As the two Turks have said that Avedick was
going to Rome, I have, at the request of the Grand Vizier, given the
Armenians a letter of recommendation to your Eminence. You can judge
of the character of these persons. It is, however, important that
they should not be ill-treated, and, after having sought Avedick,
that they should be permitted to return to Constantinople. But all
their proceedings ought to be watched in such a way that they can
neither complain of this course nor enter on their return into new
plots.”--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey,
45.

[314] Unpublished letters from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, September
1, 1706, and February 19, 1707:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs, section Turkey, 45.

[315] Unpublished letters from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, July 18, and
September 16, 1706.

[316] Unpublished letters from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, June 1, and
September 10, 1706, and February 19, 1707. It should be remarked that
it is especially after the abduction that Ferriol so vehemently accuses
Avedick of terrible persecutions. Extracts from his despatches, written
previous to the abduction, and which we have given in Chapter XII. (pp.
149 and 153 _ante_), show that this accusation had much less foundation
than the French ambassador wished to make believe, with the evident
intention of justifying the abduction of the Patriarch.

[317] Unpublished despatch from the Cardinal de la Trémouille to Torcy,
July 21, 1708:--Archives of Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Rome,
491.

[318] Unpublished letters from Torcy to La Trémouille, August 17,
and September 6, 1708:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,
section Rome, 484 and 492.

[319] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Rome, 492.

[320] Only a very few persons at Rome knew that Avedick was in France,
and even they were ignorant of the precise place where he was detained.
The other Cardinals had, with reference to this matter, only vague
and inexact information, as is proved by a letter written from Rome,
July 27, 1706, in which it is stated that Avedick was a prisoner
at Messina.--Archives of the Empire, _Monuments Historiques_, xi.:
_Négociations_, K 1315-1326.

[321] Letter, February 14, 1707:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs, section Turkey, 44.

[322] Manuscripts of the Arsenal Library, Dujonca’s Journal, _Registres
des Entrées_. This new extract from this journal proves once more its
perfect authenticity, since the date is corroborated by the letter to
the governor which we are about to quote.

[323] Letter from Louis XIV. to M. de Bernaville, at “Marly, December
18, 1709:”--_Correspondance Administrative du Règne de Louis XIV._,
vol. iv. p. 285.

[324] _Déclaration authentique de M. Pétis de la Croix,
Secrétaire-interprète du Roi en langues Arabe, Turque, et autres
Orientales_, Aug. 24, 1711:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs.

[325] _Profession de foy et réunion d’Avedick, Patriarche Arménien, à
la Sainte Église Romaine_, Monday, September 22, 1710:--Archives of the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

[326] Pétis de la Croix, _Déclaration authentique, &c._, already quoted.

[327] Extract from the _Registres des Convoys et Enterrements à
l’Église paroissiale à Saint-Sulpice, à Paris_, delivered by the S.
Joachim de la Chétardye, curé of Saint-Sulpice, August 14, 1711.

[328] _Ibid._ Avedick was interred in the cemetery of the Church of
Saint-Sulpice.

[329] Despatches from the Count de Pontchartrain to the Lieutenant
of Police d’Argenson, July 22 and 30, 1711:--_Correspondance
Administrative du Règne de Louis XIV._, vol. iv. pp. 292 and 293.
_Procès-verbal de M. d’Argenson, contenant enqueste sur la vie
et la mort de Monseigneur Avedick, patriarche des Arméniens à
Constantinople_, September 15, 1711:--Manuscripts of the Arsenal
Library, _Papiers d’Argenson_.

[330] Letters from Count Desalleurs, ambassador of France at
Constantinople, to the Marquis de Torcy, June 16, 1710, and Aug. 1,
1713.

[331] I have a number of most interesting despatches relating to this
end, and to some very curious scenes which occurred during the last
years passed by Ferriol at Constantinople. Perhaps I shall utilize
them some day. But the laws of proportion prevent me from doing so
here and oblige me not to prolong this story beyond the death of the
principal personage. After his return to France, whither he had brought
that beautiful Circassian slave, who became celebrated under the name
of Mademoiselle Aissé, Ferriol lived in obscurity, much, however,
against his will, since he did not cease soliciting being sent back to
Constantinople as ambassador, and to deny his madness with a vehemence
and an excess of language which made his statement seem very improbable.

[332] Unpublished despatches from the King to the Count Desalleurs,
ambassador at Constantinople after Ferriol, September 25, 1710, and
from the Marquis de Torcy to the same, of the same day:--Archives of
the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 48.

[333] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 48.

[334] Unpublished despatches from the King to M. de Fontenu, Consul at
Smyrna, September 19, 1709; from Torcy to Ferriol, November 5, 1709;
from the King to Ferriol, March 27, 1710:--Archives of the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 48; and from Ferriol to Torcy, May 23,
1711 (_ibid._ Turkey, 49).

[335] We think it unnecessary to demonstrate this after the
circumstantial account we have given. It suffices to add:--1st. That
Louis XIV. paid the expenses occasioned by the abduction, which for one
consul alone amounted to 105 ounces of gold (unpublished despatches
from Ferriol to Pontchartrain, June 25, 1706, and Nov. 8, 1707,
Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Turkey, 45). 2nd.
That the first despatch addressed by the King to Ferriol, on October
17, 1706, after the news of the abduction had arrived at Versailles,
far from conveying a reprimand, contains the following:--“Versailles,
October 17, 1706.--I approve your attention in procuring for the
Christian slaves in the Crimea the spiritual succours of which up to
the present time they have been deprived, and as you know my sentiments
concerning the protection which I wish on all occasions to accord to
the Catholic religion throughout the Ottoman empire, you can render me
no more agreeable service than to continue to make the effects of it
manifest, either publicly or _by secret ways_, to all those who profess
it and who find themselves oppressed by the officers of the Grand
Seignior, _whether they are his subjects, or of whatever nation they
may be_, and the more violent you remark the persecution against them
on the part of the Vizier to be, the more attentive you ought to show
yourself to procure them, with suitable caution, the assistance which
they have a right to expect from you.”--(_Ibid._ Turkey, 43.) 3rd. That
in the instructions sent to Count Desalleurs, Ferriol’s successor at
Constantinople, Ferriol’s conduct is approved.--(_Ibid._ Turkey, 47).
4th. That Ferriol’s recall took place three years after the abduction,
and was due solely to the proofs of insanity he had exhibited, and
of which Louis XIV. had been informed by the chief officers of the
embassy.




                              CHAPTER XV.

 Description of Pignerol--Its Past, its Situation--Portrait of
 Saint-Mars--His Scruples and his Integrity--Fouquet’s Arrival at
 Pignerol--Brief Account of the Surintendant’s Career--His Error with
 regard to Louis XIV., whom he betrays--Causes of Fouquet’s Fall--His
 Arrest--His Trial--His Condemnation--No kind of Obscurity in this
 Affair.


Of the principal personages in whom people have seen the Man with the
Iron Mask, we have first got rid of those imaginary beings, those
pretended brothers of Louis XIV., whom it was necessary to banish
to the domain of fiction. Afterwards entering into that of reality,
we have studied the lives of several princes whom people have also
covered with the mysterious mask,[336] but whom we have shown as
dying elsewhere than at the Bastille; as Vermandois before Courtray,
Monmouth on the scaffold, and Beaufort at the siege of Candia. These
accounts have been followed by the story of a great State prisoner
under Louis XIV., in whose favour very strong presumptions have been
advanced, but who was incarcerated neither at Pignerol nor at the
Isles Sainte-Marguerite, and who ended his days in liberty. Let us now
penetrate with Saint-Mars into Pignerol, and among the individuals
confided to his care, let us seek which of them, confined for a long
time in this fortress, next at the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, and lastly
conducted to the Bastille, where he died on November 19, 1703, is
really the Man with the Iron Mask.

At the entrance to the valleys of the Chisone and the Lemina, on the
slope of one of those hills in which by insensible gradations the
great chain of the Alps terminates on the side of Piedmont, there
arose in the form of an amphitheatre a little town which, from the
twelfth century, the Princes of Savoy had caused to be fortified for
the safety of their States, the approach to which it defended. At the
summit of the hill, formerly covered with a forest of pines, whence
the town received its name, a citadel, surrounded by fortifications,
had been constructed, which was commanded on the north alone by the
mountain of Sainte-Brigitte, soon to be itself covered with redoubts
and entrenchments. Having thus become a military position of the
greatest importance, and, as the key of Italy, able in turns to check
or favour foreign invasions, the position of Pignerol, coveted by the
Kings of France, and so precious to the Dukes of Piedmont, was long
disputed by arms, or claimed by diplomacy. Captured in 1532 by Francis
I. from the too feeble Duke Charles III., restored by Henry III. in
1574 to Philibert-Emmanuel,[337] attacked unsuccessfully in 1595 by
the Duke de Lesdiguières, it ended in 1630 by falling into the power
of Cardinal de Richelieu, who took possession of it at the head of
40,000 men, and placed it under the rule of the King of France, to
whom it was destined to belong until the disasters of the latter years
of Louis XIV. Richelieu, Mazarin, and Louvois contributed to render
its fortifications formidable. To-day there remain only a few ruins
of them, near to the cathedral of Saint-Maurice, whence there is a
charming view.[338] Very different, however, was the appearance of
Pignerol in 1664, the period at which Saint-Mars proceeded thither to
take possession of the donjon of the citadel, converted into a State
prison.[339] On the side of the hill were to be seen the houses of the
town with their low red-tiled roofs, their slight-looking campaniles,
and their chimneys in the form of turrets; here and there on certain
houses, battlements and loop-holes might be detected, the remains of
some old defence or a useful precaution against future attack. As one
raised the eyes life and action were seen to gradually disappear,
giving place to the dull monotonous service of a fortified post. On the
summit wide ditches isolated the citadel from the town, whilst beyond,
a double line of thick walls formed a vast parallelogram flanked by
four lofty towers; along the breastworks, near the drawbridges and on
the bastions, soldiers were on guard, and in the courtyards others were
lounging about; lastly, in the centre of all these fortifications,
was a large square donjon, silent yet appearing as though inhabited,
and having its windows covered with iron bars. Sombre and sinister
in aspect this black-looking mass towered to the skies. Such may we
picture to ourselves, after the lapse of a couple of centuries, was
the dwelling of those prisoners, some celebrated like Fouquet, others
mysterious like the Iron Mask, who have rendered Pignerol for ever
famous in history and legend.

Between the severe aspect of this donjon and the character of its
new commandant, there was a perfect similarity, and no one united in
himself more completely than Saint-Mars the necessary qualities for
fulfilling the duties confided to him. Bénigne d’Auvergne, Seigneur de
Saint-Mars, was a petty gentleman of Champagne, from the neighbourhood
of Montfort-l’Amaury, when he entered the first company of the King’s
Musketeers.[340] At thirty-four years of age, he had just attained
the rank of quartermaster,[341] when Fouquet was arrested at Nantes
in 1661. In this affair he shared the royal confidence with his
lieutenant, D’Artagnan, and whilst the latter was charged with the
arrest of the Surintendant, Saint-Mars had confided to him the mission
of arresting Pellisson and conducting him to Angers.[342] Selected by
Louis XIV., in 1664, as being capable of securely guarding Fouquet at
Pignerol, he was named Commandant of the donjon of this place, and
Captain of a free company.[343] He immediately proceeded to Pignerol,
and from that time devoted himself to those weighty duties of gaoler
with which he was to be occupied in various prisons, and last of all
at the Bastille, until his death, always with the same overpowering
sense of his responsibility which made him in reality the chief of
Louis XIV.’s State prisoners. He possessed the gaoler’s two principal
qualifications: a discretion which was proof against everything,
combined with a distrust such as the suspicious Louvois himself had
occasionally to restrain while he had but rarely to put him on the
alert. He was not, like D’Artagnan, an intelligent, generous, and
frank executer of the royal will. With a somewhat narrow and extremely
timid disposition, alike taciturn and restless, one thought alone
possessed and ruled him,--the servile accomplishment of the King’s
orders. To discuss them would have seemed a crime to him; to seek to
interpret them appeared superfluous. He answered for the prisoners
confided to his care. The height of the walls, the depth and width
of the moats, the vigilance of the sentinels, the carefulness of the
watchmen, the strength of the iron gratings, did not suffice to calm
the inquietude of his suspicious mind. In endeavouring to dissipate
it, he did not content himself with informing Louvois of the most
minute details, the most puerile circumstances; his scruples and
uneasiness were everlastingly reviving. Everything was in his eyes a
matter for suspicion, and his troubled imagination never ceased to
foresee pretended plans of flight. A stranger visiting Pignerol, and
regarding the citadel with a little attention, immediately became
an object of suspicion to him and was arrested, subjected to a long
examination, and imprisoned for a length of time.[344] Every month
he had a list drawn up of strangers arriving in the town,[345] with
the view of noticing the names which appeared in it too frequently.
The linen of his prisoners before leaving the donjon was carefully
plunged into a tub of water, and then dried at a fire in the presence
of officers charged in rotation to assure themselves of the absence of
all writing upon it.[346] The least change observed in the habits of
the prisoners was a source of painful worry to Saint-Mars, appearing to
him in the light of a mysterious signal designed to expedite a criminal
attempt; and one day, after his usual visit and long search in the
rooms of Fouquet and De Lauzun, not having been able to discover the
slightest sign of anything abnormal,[347] he was at first surprised
and then very much alarmed. This absence of signals doubtless seemed
to him a signal of itself. For the rest, an honest man,[348] greedy
of gain,[349] but seeking it only by legitimate means, insensible to
the reproaches of his prisoners, finding in the sentiment of having
done his duty sufficient strength to be able to disdain their abuse,
and acting humanely on the very rare occasions when their safety
did not seem to be compromised. After having perused his frank and
unaffected correspondence, in which one has a complete portrait of him,
one is almost tempted to pity Saint-Mars as much as his prisoners,
because, while enjoying as little liberty as they did, he was to some
extent their victim, being secretly preyed upon by the incessant and
painful fear of their escape. The continual inquietude by which he
was agitated rendered him a prematurely old man, and contemporaries
represent him as bent in figure, very thin, his head, hands, and entire
body[350] trembling; in a word, overwhelmed by the heavy burden of the
responsibility which weighed him down.

It was under the care of this man that Fouquet was to pass the last
sixteen years of his life. It was with him that the imprisonment of
the Surintendant was in reality about to commence. From the day of his
arrest, indeed, until his arrival at Pignerol, a thousand intrigues
had been brewing around him. The threats of his enemies, the pressing
exertions of his friends, by turns the danger of capital punishment
and the hope of being saved, with constant changes of prison[351]
and the preoccupations of the trial, had absorbed his existence and
abridged the length of the four years which had elapsed. But when he
found himself at Pignerol in a chamber into which the light penetrated
only through osier-screens fixed on enormous bars of iron, waited upon
by unknown individuals who were removed so soon as he endeavoured to
interest them in his misfortunes, and who were continued in his service
if they consented to act as spies over him; when the only visits he
received were those of his gaoler coming every day to carefully examine
his furniture, rummage over his effects, consult his countenance, and
surprise his thoughts; when all correspondence was forbidden him, and
when he might believe himself for ever separated from those who were
dearest to him; then, and then alone, there appeared to him in all
its reality the horror of his lot, rendered still more bitter by the
recollection of past splendours. How often in his isolation did he
invoke the dazzling picture of his unprecedented fortune! How many
times did he recount to himself the great part he had played during
the Fronde, the legitimate influence acquired over Anne of Austria and
Mazarin, whose devoted auxiliary he had been, so many and such high
functions united in his own person, a great part of the court at his
feet, friends like Corneille and Molière, Madame de Sévigné, Pellisson,
and La Fontaine, dwellings much more splendid than the King’s,[352]
a formidable fortified place for refuge,[353] an island in America
for an asylum,[354] the right of sovereignty over many towns,[355]
joined to immense riches, the most ardent passions satiated, and the
most unbridled ambition satisfied: then a thunderbolt overwhelming in
an instant all this greatness and precipitating the daring man into
the abyss! “There is no greater sorrow,” says Dante, “than to recall
when in misery our time of happiness.”[356] But how much greater
still, when the eyes, at length seeing distinctly, can perceive the
imprudences and the faults committed! Rendered more clear-sighted
by adversity, Fouquet might remember with bitterness Louis XIV.’s
generous conduct towards him on his taking possession of power after
the death of Mazarin. “I knew,” says the King in his _Mémoires_,[357]
“that he possessed intelligence, and had a great knowledge of the home
affairs of the State, which made me imagine that, provided he would
avow his past faults and promise amendment, he might render me good
service.” Louis XIV. sincerely desired to continue to employ Fouquet.
He conferred with him a long time, begged that he might be informed of
everything, and that nothing of the true state of the finances might
be concealed from him. On these conditions he consented to forget the
past, and in future to consider only the services rendered by the
Surintendant entering on a legal and regular course of proceeding and
foregoing further peculations.[358]

But, like many others at the court, Fouquet had deceived himself as
to the character of the young King. The latter had announced his
resolution to govern by himself, to preside in person over the Council,
to sign everything after having seen everything, and to gradually
enlighten himself upon the administration of his kingdom, with the
view of always being able to direct it properly.[359] Very few had
believed in the permanence of this resolution of a young King of
two-and-twenty, to which, however, he was faithful till his death, and
even Anne of Austria herself had derided it.[360] Conceiving himself
master of the King’s mind through those who surrounded him, and
imagining that, thanks to his numerous spies, he was acquainted with
every one of his plans; convinced, moreover, that his master, occupied
with his pleasures, would be quickly repelled by irksome labour,
Fouquet had persisted in his criminal conduct, and had remained deaf to
the warnings of his friends.[361] But whilst he daily presented Louis
XIV. with falsified accounts, in which the expenses were increased and
the receipts diminished, Colbert, to whom they were sent every evening,
examined them carefully, indicated the embezzlements, and enlightened
the King upon the persevering audacity of his Minister. At the same
time Fouquet continued to fortify his towns, to extend his influence,
to fabricate loans to the King, to secure for himself under other
names the farming of several taxes, and to appoint his creatures to
the most important offices, which he secretly bought for them in the
hope of soon rendering himself the sovereign ruler of the State.[362]
This was not all. This individual, who aspired to replace Mazarin, to
whom he was so inferior, because, unlike him, he was not prompted by
true national interests, possessed moreover only the lofty aims of the
ambitious, but neither tact nor clear-sightedness. With a keen mind and
quick understanding, he very rapidly discerned the surface of things,
but was wanting in the Cardinal’s penetrating sagacity and depth of
vision, and whilst the latter, with a less vulgar ambition, occupied
himself much more with the reality than with the semblance of power,
Fouquet, vain and frivolous, could not resist the puerile satisfaction
of making a parade of his authority and wealth. We are acquainted
with the scandalous pomp of the fête given in the Château of Vaux,
“that anticipated Versailles,”[363] with its magnificent galleries,
its splendid gardens, and its shameless luxury. We have this example,
the most striking perhaps which history affords, of a man possessed
with that folly which precedes great falls, and accelerating by his
insolence a catastrophe already rendered inevitable by so many other
faults.[364]

There is, indeed, nothing obscure in the causes of this catastrophe,
whatever may have been said respecting it. How it came to pass, the
circumstances which accompanied it, every one of the incidents of a
trial which lasted three years, the accusations of the prosecution,
as well as the arguments of the defence, have all been brought to
light,[365] and it is impossible not to feel convinced that Saint-Mars’
first prisoner was justly punished for acknowledged and indisputable
faults, and not for the possession of a State secret,[366] or for I
know not what hidden crime which he would have mysteriously expiated
by wearing, until his death, a velvet mask. It has been pretended,
without any authentic proof being furnished, that Louis XIV. not only
discovered in him a powerful and wealthy rival, but that the arrest
of the Surintendant was simply a piece of revenge on the part of the
royal lover of La Vallière.[367] Owing to the steadfast friendship
of La Fontaine, and Madame de Sévigné, to their persistence in their
illusions and to the eloquent sincerity of their complaints, Fouquet
must always have many partisans. Even among his contemporaries, the
touching devotion of his friends, the passionate attacks of some of his
adversaries, and the length of his trial, induced a reaction; and while
at first the indignant populace showed their exasperation against him
by imprecations and threats,[368] by degrees, as often happens, public
opinion changed into sympathy for the victim,[369] and to regarding his
judges as persecutors. Lastly, that mysterious legend of the Man with
the Iron Mask, which some persons wish to make the climax of Fouquet’s
career, commences, according to them, from his arrest, and the minute
precautions then taken by the King at once indicate and explain all
those of which the famous masked prisoner was later to be the object.

Louis XIV. was naturally inclined to dissimulation. Mazarin not only
set him the example of “this cunning and necessary virtue,”[370] but
advised him to practise it,[371] and never, it must be remembered,
was this counsel more strictly followed than during the few months
which preceded Fouquet’s fall. From the time it was resolved upon,
Louis XIV., aided by Colbert and Le Tellier, prepared in detail and
in secret everything that could assure the punctual execution of his
orders and anticipate the slightest difficulty. It cannot be denied
that he lulled the Surintendant into security, and cradled him with
deceptive hopes, and that with infinite art he never treated him
more graciously than after he had decided upon his ruin. Fouquet, as
Procureur-général to the Parliament, could only be judged by that body.
His acquittal would thus have been nearly certain, since he had a great
number of partisans in it. It was therefore essential that he should
resign this position[372] in order that he might be brought before a
chamber of justice. It was Colbert, his ardent enemy, who ventured to
give him this pernicious advice, and who, with a skill inspired by
hatred, prevailed on the Surintendant without exciting his mistrust.
Louis XIV. facilitated Colbert’s task by hinting to the vain-glorious
Fouquet that the collar of the order and the dignity of Prime Minister
would be irreconcilable with the functions of Procureur-général.[373]
At the same time he exhibited towards him an unusual confidence, often
called him into his presence, followed his advice, and overwhelmed his
brother, the Bishop of Agde, with favours. The grand blow of the arrest
was to be struck in Brittany, as it was thought that the presence of
the King there would render resistance on the part of the fortified
places in the Surintendant’s power more difficult, and the idea of
advising this journey was suggested to him. The minute precautions
taken at the time of the arrest;[374] those musketeers assembled under
the pretext of a royal hunt and placed at the disposal of D’Artagnan;
the troops occupying the roads and allowing no one but the royal
couriers to pass; those long private interviews of Louis XIV., first
with Le Tellier and then with D’Artagnan;[375] the most improbable
obstacles foreseen and the care taken to leave nothing to chance:
all this offers, it is true, the singular spectacle of an absolute
monarch conspiring the fall of one of his subjects. But how can one be
astonished at it when this subject is Fouquet, alone able to dispose
of immense wealth in the midst of general distress, and counting
devoted pensioners even amongst the officers surrounding the King?
How can one be astonished, moreover, when Louis XIV. could not even
place confidence in the captain of his guards?[376] when we know that
Fouquet could do as he pleased with the Mediterranean fleets through
the Marquis de Créqui, general of the galleys,[377] and with those of
the Ocean through the Admiral de Neuchèse,[378] when Brittany had in
some degree become his kingdom,[379] and most of the places in the
North had his creatures for commandants? How can one be astonished,
above all things, after having read the famous plan of resistance found
among the Saint-Mandé papers,[380] a veritable plan of a civil war long
meditated, written entirely by Fouquet, and one in which he braves and
defies the authority of his sovereign? The parts to be played in the
revolt are distributed among his friends; the chiefs are designated;
the places of refuge indicated. Fouquet makes known what arms are to be
employed, what hostages it will be necessary to secure; all the means
of agitation are advised. Through his two brothers, the coadjutor of
Narbonne and the bishop of Agde, the clergy are to be stirred up. By
means of certain members of the Parliament, disturbances are to be
excited in Paris, and the war of pamphlets kindled anew. By means of
the Governors, the public treasures are to be seized, and the garrisons
are to be sent forth on to the highways. Lastly, supreme treason,
foreign help is not to be lost sight of, and Lorraine, as well as
Spain, is to be summoned to enter France.[381]

So much audacity and such an exaggerated pride sufficiently explain the
dissimulation and the minute solicitude of Louis XIV., without one’s
seeking the cause elsewhere. But if he matured this _coup-d’état_ in
secret, and accomplished it with a prudence, without which he would
have certainly failed, none of the crimes which rendered it necessary
were hidden from contemporaries. The preparations for the arrest
were alone mysterious. During the three following years, every one
of the documents relating to the trial was presented to the judges,
communicated to Fouquet,[382] and was the subject of long discussions.
From this there resulted the proof of his skill in argument, but not
at all of his innocence. On account of his extortions and of his plan
of revolt, he had, according to the laws and customs of the time,
deserved death. The majority of his judges condemned him to banishment,
a punishment rightly considered too lenient by Louis XIV., who changed
it into perpetual imprisonment. But long before his condemnation the
numerous _mémoires_ which the accused composed in order to defend
himself had been secretly printed by his friends,[383] and circulated
among the people. There had thus been nothing ignored or left in
obscurity. There is nothing imaginary or hypothetical in the account
of what preceded and brought about Fouquet’s imprisonment. It is
essential to establish this first of all. Let us now see if, during his
stay at Pignerol, any event occurred which, sixteen years after his
condemnation, could all at once have determined Louis XIV. to simulate
Fouquet’s death, and to make of a captive, long since inoffensive and
forgotten, that mysterious and nameless prisoner who is to come from
the Isles Sainte-Marguerite to die obscurely in the Bastille.


FOOTNOTES:

[336] It is needless to say that I have put on one side the numerous
opinions which are not worthy of being discussed, simply because they
do not rest upon a pretext even. There was a period (that of the
public disputes between Fréron, Saint-Foix, Lagrange-Chancel, Father
Griffet, and Voltaire) when to imagine a solution of this problem was
in fashion, and people suggested a name without troubling themselves
with the proofs, or at least with the motives which might render this
name probable. It is in this manner that two-and-twenty so-styled
solutions have been put forward. I have discussed those which concern
the brothers of Louis XIV. (son of Buckingham and Anne of Austria, son
of Anne of Austria and an unknown person, son of Anne of Austria and
Louis XIII., born some hours after Louis XIV.) I have subsequently
refuted the Vermandois solution, and the Monmouth, Beaufort, and
Avedick. I shall content myself with simply mentioning the opinions
which make the Man with the Iron Mask a natural and adulterine son of
Marie-Louise d’Orléans, wife of Charles II., King of Spain; a natural
and adulterine son of Marie-Anne de Neubourg, second wife of Charles
II., King of Spain, who would have been put out of the way by Louis
XIV.; a natural son of the Duchess Henriette d’Orléans and Louis XIV.;
a natural son of the same Princess and the Count de Guiche; a natural
son of Marie-Thèrese, wife of Louis XIV. and of the negro servant whom
she had brought with her from Spain; a son of Christine of Sweden and
of her Grand Equerry Monaldeschi; a son of Cromwell; a lover of Louise
d’Orléans, imprisoned when she became Queen of Spain; a woman; a pupil
of the Jesuits incarcerated for an abusive distich, and sent to the
Isles Sainte-Marguerite. All these opinions have, as may be seen, very
little weight.

Lastly, it is proper to name the Chevalier Louis de Rohan, Master of
the Hounds, condemned to death in 1674, as a conspirator, and who,
according to one theory, had his life spared. M. Pierre Clément, in
the work which he has devoted to this individual (_Enguerrand de
Marigny, Beaune de Semblançay, le Chevalier de Rohan, épisodes de
l’Histoire de France_), and in chapter vi. of his curious volume, _La
Police sous Louis XIV._, has clearly established that the Chevalier
de Rohan was beheaded. He was executed with his accomplices in front
of the Bastille, November 27, 1674. The execution was public, and it
was impossible to have substituted any one else. It was not because
no effort was made to move the heart of Louis XIV.; but Louvois was
always on the watch, and in this instance thought it desirable to
renew the severities of Richelieu. Even supposing it were possible
to prove that Louis XIV. had spared the life of this conspirator, it
would also be necessary to prove that he was the Man with the Iron
Mask, and not merely by showing the probabilities and indicating the
possibilities. Such a process, indeed, sufficed in the last century to
build up a theory; but historical criticism in our own times is rightly
more exacting. It is essential now-a-days to establish the perfect
conformity between the Chevalier de Rohan and the Man with the Iron
Mask, by following the former from prison to prison, from the time that
his life is said to have been spared until his death in 1703. But this
is utterly impossible. One prisoner only was brought to Saint-Mars
in 1674, but on _April_ 18, long before the Chevalier’s trial: this
prisoner was an insignificant and obscure monk. Now we are acquainted
with all the prisoners confided to Saint-Mars since that time, we know
the causes of their imprisonment, and there is no doubt, moreover, that
he had no others. Numerous despatches attest this fact, and it has been
established and recognized since a long time. The only doubtful point
is which of Saint-Mars’ prisoners was the Man with the Iron Mask. But
not one of them has, in his existence, his age, the manner in which he
was treated, the time at which he was incarcerated, any feature which
resembles the Chevalier de Rohan even in conjecture. See, besides the
two volumes mentioned: Imperial Archives, Manuscript Registers of the
Secretary’s office of the King’s Household, year 1674, pp. 133, 165,
184. Archives of the Ministry of War, letter from Louvois to the King,
October 6, 1674. _Mémoires Militaires de Louis XIV._, vol. iii. p.
522; Basnage, chap. civ. p. 549; La Hode, book xxxv. p. 514; Limiers,
book vi. p. 274; Lafare, chap. vii. p. 211; Sismondi, _Histoire des
Français_, vol. xxv. pp. 280 and 282; Camille Rousset, _Histoire de
Louvois_, vol. ii. p. 120.

[337] _Cessione di Pinerolo, fatta da Enrico III. ad Emanuele Filiberto
il Grande Duca di Savoia_, Pinèrolo, 1858.

[338] _Pinerolo antico e moderno e suoi dintorni_, del Canonico G.
Groset-Monchet; _Veduta di S. Maurizio_, dell’ Abate Car. Jacopo
Bernardi, Pinerolo, 1858.

[339] _Corografia fisica dell’ Italia_, di Attilio Zuccagni-Orlandini.

[340] _Mémoires de D’Artagnan_, by Sandraz de Courtilz, Cologne, 1701,
vol. iii. pp. 222 and 385; _Annales de la Cour et de Paris_, for the
years 1697 and 1698, vol. ii. p. 380.

[341] Order of Le Tellier to d’Artagnan, December 3, 1661:--Archives of
the Ministry of War.

[342] _Ibid._

[343] Despatches from Louvois to Saint-Mars, January 17, 23, and 29,
1665. Saint-Mars espoused the sister of Louvois’ mistress, whose
acquaintance he made, not in one of his journeys to Paris (for these
were extremely rare), but at Pignerol itself. The Sieur Damorezan (and
not De Morésant, as MM. Paul Lacroix and Jules Loiseleur have written
it), muster-master at Pignerol, had two sisters, one of whom, Madame
Dufresnoy, became mistress of Louvois, and through his influence, lady
of the bed-chamber to the Queen, while the other married Saint-Mars.
The latter had 6,000 livres (240_l._) salary, _plus_ gratuities, which
were often very considerable. He alone commanded in the donjon, and his
authority was independent of that of the Marquis d’Herleville, governor
of the town of Pignerol, and of M. Lamothe de Rissan, Lieutenant of
the King in the citadel. There were, however, between the latter and
Saint-Mars occasional jealousies which Louvois sought to remove, but
not always with success.

[344] Unpublished letter from Saint-Mars to Louvois, May 6,
1673:--Archives of the Ministry of War, vol. cccliv. fo. 214.

[345] Unpublished letter from Saint-Mars to Louvois, March 17,
1673:--_Ibid._, vol. cccliv. fo. 230.

[346] Unpublished letter from Saint-Mars to Louvois, February 20,
1672:--_Ibid._, vol. ccxcix. fo. 67.

[347] Unpublished letter from Saint-Mars to Louvois, April 22,
1673:--_Ibid._, vol. cccliv. fo. 193.

[348] This is the testimony which Madame de Sévigné gives about him in
a letter dated January 25, 1675: “He was a discreet man and very exact
in duty,” say the _Mémoires de D’Artagnan_.

[349] An unpublished letter, written June 4, 1689, by Seignelay to
Saint-Mars, who was then at the Isles Saint-Marguerite, furnishes a
proof of this eagerness for gain:--Archives of Ministry of Marine,
_Lettres des Secrétaires d’État_, 1689. Saint-Mars, like all the
governors of the Bastille, left a large fortune. The profits realized
in this position were, however, in no degree prejudicial to the
prisoners’ nourishment, the expenses being defrayed on a very liberal
footing, as M. Ravaisson has perfectly established in his learned
introduction to the _Archives de la Bastille_, p. xxviii. _et seq._ He
received presents from Louis XIV., one of which one day amounted to
10,000 crowns (1,250_l._):--Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, January
11, 1677.

[350] _Histoire de la Bastille_ of Constantin de Renneville, vol. i. p.
32.

[351] Nantes, Angers, Amboise, Vincennes, Moret, Fontainebleau, the
Bastille.

[352] Versailles was not yet built.

[353] Belle-Isle. [Off Quiberon on the Breton coast.--_Trans._]

[354] The island of Santa Lucia, then called Sainte-Alouzie. [One of
the Caribbee Islands.--_Trans._]

[355] By himself or his friends, Fouquet ruled over Havre, Calais,
Amiens, Hesdin, Conearneau, Guingamp, Guérande, Mount Saint-Michel, and
Croisic.

[356]

          “Nessun maggior dolore,
  Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
  Nella miseria.”--_Inferno_, v. 41.


[357] _Mémoires de Louis XIV._ Dreyss’s edition, vol. ii. p. 388.

[358] _Mémoires de Choisy._ Michaud and Poujoulat’s edition, p. 581.

[359] _Mémoires de Louis Henri de Loménie, Comte de Brienne_, vol. ii.
pp. 155 and 157; _Mémoires de Choisy_, p. 582.

[360] _Mémoires de Louis XIV._, vol. i. p. 37; _Mémoires de Choisy_, p.
582.

[361] _Mémoires de Choisy_, p. 581.

[362] _Mémoires de Louis XIV._, vol. ii. p. 525.

[363] M. Sainte-Beuve, _Causeries du Lundi_, vol. v.

[364] Fouquet, who had purchased the Vicomté of Melun, replaced the
old château by a magnificent edifice, which has become celebrated from
the fête given there to Louis XIV. It is the _chef-d’œuvre_ of the
architect Le Vau, and astounds one by its grand and noble proportions.
The exterior is profusely covered with sculpture, and the splendour
of the interior is fully in keeping with that of the outside, the
decorations of the principal apartments having been entrusted to the
most celebrated painters of the age. The pleasure-grounds, which cover
several hundred acres, were planted by Le Nôtre, and are laid out in
straight lines, after the usual custom of the seventeenth century.

The _mémoires_ of the time are filled with accounts of Fouquet’s fête
to Louis XIV., August 17, 1661; and La Fontaine has described it both
in prose and verse. Fouquet’s fall had long since been prepared by
LeTellier and Colbert, and was already resolved upon when Louis XIV.
went to seat himself at his table; but the luxury of this abode and the
splendour of the reception singularly increased the irritation of the
monarch, who was well aware that it was paid for out of money of which
the State had been defrauded. Fouquet was arrested on September 5, only
eighteen days after this fête.

The château of Vaux, which, save the ravages of time, is still in much
the same state as Fouquet left it, is situated about four miles to the
north-east of Melun, on the road from Paris to Meaux.--_Trans._

[365] See _Histoire de Colbert_, by M. Pierre Clément, vol. i.;
_Mémoires sur Nicolas Fouquet_, by M. Chéruel; _La Police sous Louis
XIV._, by M. P. Clément, pp. 1-61, and the Appendices to vols. viii.
and ix. of M. Chéruel’s edition of the _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol.
viii. p. 447, and vol. ix. p. 414.

[366] We shall prove this hereafter.

[367] As M. Chéruel has remarked (_Mémoires sur Nicolas Fouquet_, vol.
ii. p. 173, note 3) the letter which is relied on in order to support
this allegation is far from authentic. It has been transcribed in
the _Manuscrits Conrart_ (vol. xi. folio, p. 152), with many other
letters “which are said to have been found in Fouquet’s casket.” But
we know what took place with reference to this famous casket. Greedy
of scandal, and not finding sufficient in the real letters which were
published at that time, the courtiers invented a very great number,
attributing them to ladies of the court, whose names they gave. They
were collected with care, in the papers of Conrart and Vallant, and
have thus been handed down to us: (Manuscripts of the Arsenal for the
_Papiers de Conrart_ and of the Imperial Library for those of Vallant).
Such was the publicity given to these letters, that at the commencement
of the trial the Chancellor Séguier thought it his duty to declare
to the court that they were forgeries: See M. Chéruel’s work already
referred to, vol. ii. p. 289, _et seq._, and M. Feuillet de Conches’
_Causeries d’un Curieux_, vol. ii. p. 518, _et seq._

[368] “Do not fear that he will escape,” said they at Angers to
D’Artagnan: “we will strangle him first:”--_Journal d’Olivier
d’Ormesson_, published by M. Chéruel in the _Collection des Documents
Inédits sur l’Histoire de France_, vol. ii. p. 99. The same hatred
manifested itself at Tours, whence it was necessary to set out with
Fouquet at three o’clock in the morning to escape the threats of
the people. At Saint-Mandé and Vincennes it was the same: _Récit
Officiel de l’Arrestation de Fouquet_, by the Registrar Joseph
Foucault:--Imperial Library, Manuscripts, No. 235-245 of the 500 of
Colbert.

[369] _Mémoires sur Nicolas Fouquet_, vol. ii. p. 386.

[370] So Madame de Motteville terms it in her _Mémoires_.

[371] _Mémoires de Choisy_, p. 189.

[372] The office was sold in 1661 to M. de Harlay. See on the subject
of the reports of this sale, _Lettres de Guy-Patin_, July 12 and 15,
1661.

[373] _Mémoires de Brienne_, vol. ii. p. 178.

[374] Order of arrest given to D’Artagnan, with the memorandum
published by Ravaisson in his _Archives de la Bastille_, vol. i. p.
347-351: Letters of the Marquis de Coislin to the Chancellor Séguier,
September 5, 1661:--_Ibid._ p. 351-355.

[375] _Procès-verbal_ of the Registrar Foucault, already referred to;
_Mémoires de Brienne_; _Mémoires de l’Abbé de Choisy_.

[376] The Marquis de Gesvres, whom Louis XIV. did not dare to entrust
with the mission of arresting Fouquet.

[377] _Défenses de Fouquet_, vol. iii. p. 357. Edition of 1665.

[378] _Mémoires sur Nicolas Fouquet_, vol. i. p. 398.

[379] This is the title which Fouquet’s friends gave to this province.

[380] Manuscripts of the Imperial Library (500 _de Colbert_, No. 235,
fo. 86 _et seq._) This plan has been published by M. P. Clément almost
entire in vol. i. p. 41, _et seq._, of his _Histoire de Colbert_,
and entire by him in the introduction of vol. ii. of the _Lettres de
Colbert_, and in his _Police sous Louis XIV._, p. 33, _et seq._ M.
Chéruel has also reproduced it entire in Appendix No. vi. of vol.
i. of his _Mémoires sur Nicolas Fouquet_, pp. 488-501. This plan is
incontestably authentic, and Fouquet has never denied having written it.

[381] All these facts are in great part proved by the plan, and by
other papers found at Saint-Mandé, which are now in the Imperial
Library.

[382] _Mémoires sur Nicolas Fouquet_, pp. 367 to 386.

[383] _Histoires de la Détention des Philosophes et des Gens de
Lettres_, by Delort, vol. i. p. 21.




                             CHAPTER XVI.

 Remark of Fouquet’s Mother--The Prisoner’s Piety--Danger which he
 escapes at Pignerol--Incessant Supervision over him at La Pérouse,
 near Pignerol--Excessive Scruples of Saint-Mars--Precautions
 prescribed by Louvois--Espionage exercised over Fouquet by his
 Servants and his Confessor--Illnesses of the Prisoner--He devotes
 himself entirely to Study and to religious Meditations--Works to
 which he gives himself up--His new Motto--Interest which he continues
 to take in all his Relations and in Louis XIV.--Saint-Mars’ laconic
 Answers.


The fortitude with which Fouquet supported adversity has almost caused
his contemporaries to forget how he had allowed himself to be blinded
and led astray by prosperity. Without exhibiting this excessive
indulgence, without going so far as to take the part of the victim
against his judges, or to forget his errors and his faults, one cannot
prevent oneself from owning that at Pignerol he nobly expiated them by
his unceasing resignation, by his firmness and by the elevation of his
sentiments.

When Fouquet’s mother heard of his arrest, she threw herself upon her
knees, exclaiming: “It is now, O God, that I have hopes of my son’s
salvation!”[384] This prayer of a pious woman whom the grandeur of the
Surintendant had never dazzled, and whom his dissipation had caused
to mourn, was fully answered. If so unhappy as to survive her son and
to be ignorant of none of his sufferings, her sorrow may at least have
been softened by the thought that the prisoner of Pignerol sought
consolation in religion and study. During the early period of his
imprisonment at Angers, depressed by misfortune, but sustained by the
remembrance of the counsels and the virtues of his mother, he had, in a
touching letter imbued with the most pious[385] sentiments, requested a
confessor. A terrible danger encountered by him at Pignerol six months
after his arrival, and which he escaped as if by a miracle, went to
confirm him more completely in these sentiments. In the middle of the
month of June, 1665, a thunderbolt fell upon the donjon of the citadel
and set fire to the powder-magazine. A portion of the donjon was blown
down, and a large number of soldiers were entombed beneath the ruins.
Fouquet’s chamber was reached by the explosion. Some of the walls fell
and the furniture was shattered to pieces. Saint-Mars thought that his
prisoner was killed. But he was found in the embrasure of a projecting
window, and had not even received a bruise.[386] As the repairs in the
donjon necessitated by this disaster could not be completed in less
than a year, Fouquet, by orders of Louis XIV. and Louvois,[387] was
transferred for a time to the neighbouring château of La Pérouse.

Here commenced the attempts made by the prisoner, not so much to
escape--he could not be mistaken as to the impossibility of succeeding
in this--as to write to his mother and his wife, and to obtain from
them letters expected in vain since his departure from Paris. “I
have received the letters written by M. Fouquet,” Louvois informs
Saint-Mars, July 26. “The King has seen the whole, and was not
surprised that he should do his utmost to obtain news, and that you
exert all your efforts to prevent his receiving it.”[388] “To give
and receive news:” such, indeed, was Fouquet’s most lively and very
natural desire. In order to satisfy it, he made the most industrious
efforts and showed the most ingenious patience. With soot mixed with
a few drops of water he made ink, a fowl’s bone served him for a pen,
and he wrote upon a handkerchief, which he afterwards concealed in
the back of his chair.[389] He managed even to compound an ink, which
he employed to cover the margin of a book with some lines of writing
that became visible only after being warmed.[390] But Saint-Mars’[391]
vigilance frustrated these attempts. He soon discovered the hidden
handkerchief, and not content with sending this alone to the King,
also forwarded the clumsy implements fabricated and used by his
prisoner.[392] The latter having afterwards written upon ribbons, black
ones only were in future given him, and his garments were, moreover,
lined with stuff of the same colour. From this period he became the
object of a still closer surveillance, the proof of which we find in
the numerous letters exchanged between Louvois and Saint-Mars. Like
all timorous people, Saint-Mars was absolutely wanting in the spirit
of initiation, and took delight in having recourse to his chief. He
possessed no ambitious desire of exhibiting his zeal, but only an
imperious need of dissipating his alarms and of relieving himself from
responsibility. It did not suffice this timid gaoler to adopt the most
minute precautions with respect to his prisoner. He recounted them in
his correspondence with the Minister, with the view of obtaining fresh
orders, or of receiving an approval which might calm his uneasiness. It
was in this spirit that he begged Louvois to authorise him to have a
salt-cellar made for Fouquet out of his two broken candlesticks.[393]
It was in this spirit also that after having prevented his prisoner’s
servant from giving an alms, considering it suspicious, he consulted
the Minister on the subject, and solicited his advice.[394]

These excessive scruples sometimes caused him to be wanting in
humanity. He one day considered it necessary to ask Louvois for
an authorisation to have a sick prisoner bled, and the Minister,
on according it twenty days afterwards, added: “Whenever such
circumstances occur, you can have [the prisoner] treated and doctored
as may be needful without awaiting orders for it.”[395] The puerile
questions and the demands for fresh instructions became so frequent,
that the Minister was compelled to write to Saint-Mars: “I have
received your two last letters. They oblige me to tell you that, as
the King has charged you with the care of Mons. Fouquet, his Majesty
has no new orders to give you to prevent his escape, or his sending or
receiving letters.”[396] This outburst is so much the more significant
as Louvois, very prone and qualified to enter into the slightest
details, and an imperious and most exacting chief, accustomed all his
subordinates to extreme deference, and to having incessant recourse
to his authority. But in this case the Minister’s prejudices were
outstripped, and Saint-Mars alone perhaps had the power to wear out
by his pertinacity him who on ordinary occasions was most desirous of
being consulted. Moreover, we must admit, it was the only instance in
which the Minister manifested his displeasure. He habitually replied
with care to every detail comprised in the letters from the commandant
of Pignerol, and he sometimes even rivalled him in his want of
confidence. Thus it was that in December, 1670, Fouquet, who was ill,
having obtained authority to have a prescription drawn up by Pecquet,
his former medical attendant, Louvois sent it to Saint-Mars with these
words: “As soon as you have received it, you will make a very exact
copy. You will show the original to M. Fouquet, and you and he will
compare it with the copy which you will leave with him. You will then
burn the original. By this means the said Sieur Fouquet having seen it
will have no doubt, and you having burnt it will have no anxiety about
it.”[397] On another occasion, when sending a chest of tea for Fouquet,
Louvois prescribed to Saint-Mars: “To empty it into another receptacle,
and to take away the chest, and the paper which may be within the
chest, so as to leave to M. Fouquet the said tea only.”[398] Never were
orders more agreeable or more faithfully executed. These precautions
of Louvois encouraged Saint-Mars’ distrust, who thus found himself
supported in his conduct by that authority, most persuasive when it
emanates from one above us in station, namely, example.

Thus stimulated in suspicions to which he naturally inclined,
Saint-Mars was not slow to conceive that his means of surveillance
were insufficient. To see one’s prisoner often, to assure oneself
with one’s own eyes that he communicates with nobody, to examine
with care his furniture and effects, to multiply the difficulties
of an escape, seem to constitute all the duties of a conscientious
and vigilant gaoler. But the suspicious Saint-Mars was in no-wise
satisfied with these precautions. Forgetting that the prisoner’s body
alone was under his care, he wished to extend his surveillance even
to Fouquet’s thoughts. To attain this end he had recourse both to his
confessor and to the servant who waited upon him. Having, however, soon
discerned the interest which the unfortunate prisoner inspired in his
servant, Saint-Mars felt that he could not rely upon the sincerity of
his reports, and he attached to the person of Fouquet a second valet,
who was instructed to watch the first, and was himself the object of
a secret surveillance on the part of the latter.[399] As for the
confessor, to control him was impossible, and in fact would have been
unnecessary. We read in the correspondence of Louvois and Saint-Mars
that “he was a good man,”[400] which is another proof how differently
the conduct of men may be appreciated. In the eyes of Louvois and of
Saint-Mars Fouquet’s confessor was a _good man_, because he consented
to act as a spy; because, as Fouquet wrote later to his wife, “instead
of having God in view, he acted the cowardly part of making his fortune
at the expense of one in trouble.” He succeeded; for Saint-Mars
obtained a promise from Louvois “that he should receive a living when
he should cease to fulfil his office.”[401] The first instructions
given to Saint-Mars authorised him to change the priest each time that
Fouquet desired to confess. But when they had discovered this “good
man,” they abandoned henceforth this useless precaution, and Fouquet
in vain requested to be allowed to make a general confession to the
Superior of the Jesuits, then to the Superiors of the Récollets and
Capucines of Pignerol.[402]

These proceedings, and the non-success of an attempt made in 1669 by
an old servant of Fouquet’s,[403] who endeavoured, by corrupting
some soldiers, to place himself in communication with his master,
induced the latter to give himself up entirely to study and religious
meditations. He renounced the project of communicating with his
relations and friends. The salvation of his soul and the care of his
body alone occupied his thoughts. Deprived long since of all physical
exercise, and having suddenly exchanged an existence, excited by
travel, and adorned by everything that could make life attractive
and sweet, for the solitude and inactivity of a prison, Fouquet had
seen his health rapidly decay, and innumerable disorders seize on
him.[404] “There is not a disease to which the body is liable,” he
wrote to his wife, “of which mine has not experienced some symptom. I
am no sooner quit of one than it is succeeded by another, and I can
but suppose that these will only cease with my life. I should require
a large volume to describe my sufferings in detail, but the principal
one is that my stomach does not act in concert with my liver; what
suits one is injurious to the other, and, what is more, my legs are
always swollen.”... “The best thing to be done,” he says afterwards,
“is to give up all care of the body, and to think of one’s soul. This
is important to us, and yet we show more concern for the body.” In
truth, he gave as much attention to one as to the other. Distrustful
of the surgeon of the citadel, he compounded himself the remedies
which suited him best; and in order, no doubt, that he might avail
himself of his servant as an auxiliary, he instructed him in the art
of dispensing.[405] The first books which Saint-Mars consented to
give him after having received authority to do so, were the Bible and
a history of France. Later, the works of Clavius and St. Bonaventura
were added; and then, by desire of the prisoner, a dictionary of
rhymes.[406] Poetry to him was nothing more than a relaxation, and
he devoted himself above all to reading religious works and to the
production of several lengthy treatises on morals. The remembrance
of his former grandeur clashed in them with the impressions of his
profound fall. The Christian preoccupied with his salvation, the
philosopher enlightened by adversity, the recluse giving himself up to
the contemplation of divine things, hold in their turn a language of
sublime and unchangeable serenity. One finds in almost every page proof
of this resignation in disgrace, and of this contentment in affliction
which Christianity can alone inspire. He whose haughty motto, for a
long time justified by events, had been _Quo non ascendam_, now humbly
submissive to his lot, adopted the touching emblem of the silkworm in
his cocoon with these words: _Inclusum labor illustrat!_

However, Fouquet was not so detached from things terrestrial as not
to interest himself in them at all. His mother, wife and several
children, being still alive, his thoughts often turned towards these
dearly beloved beings, and also, but without bitterness, towards
Louis XIV. and his conquests, towards the Court and the Ministers.
He often questioned Saint-Mars. The latter’s replies were brief, and
so unprecise that he considered himself obliged to write to Louvois
and inquire in what sense he ought to answer.[407] Entirely master of
his prisoner, sure of those who surrounded him, he believed that the
barrier which he had erected around him was insuperable, and thought
that he would be able to keep him apprised of contemporary events as
he pleased, or else leave him in the most complete ignorance. Useless
efforts and vain confidence in his power! The enterprising audacity and
industrious perseverance of a prisoner recently brought to Pignerol,
triumphed over even the innumerable precautions of the most suspicious
of gaolers.


FOOTNOTES:

[384] _Mémoires de Choisy_, p. 590.

[385] M. Feuillet de Conches, _Causeries d’un Curieux_, vol. ii. p.
529. “M. d’Artagnan told me,” says Olivier d’Ormesson in his _Journal_,
“that M. Fouquet, during the first three weeks, was very unquiet
and amazed, but that his mind grew calmer, and that he became very
self-possessed afterwards, giving himself up largely to devotion; that
he fasted every week on Wednesday and Friday, and besides this, lived
on Saturday on bread and water; that he rose before seven o’clock,
said his prayers, and after that worked till nine o’clock; that he
subsequently heard mass.”--_Journal d’Olivier d’Ormesson_, vol. ii. p.
52.

[386] Letters from Louvois to Saint-Mars, June 29, 1665, and from
Colbert to the same, on the same day. People at Paris as well as at
Pignerol did not fail to say that heaven had judged him innocent whom
men had condemned. See _Lettres de Madame de Sévigné et de Guy Patin_;
_Journal d’Olivier d’Ormesson_, vol. ii. p. 372; _Œuvres de Fouquet_,
vol. xvi.

[387] Order of Louis XIV., countersigned by Le Tellier, and dated from
Saint-Germain, June 29, 1665. It was Saint-Mars who, with his free
company as escort, took Fouquet to La Pérouse, and continued to guard
him there till the month of August, 1666, at which period he brought
him back to Pignerol.

[388] Delort, _Histoire de la Détention des Philosophes_, vol. i. p.
103.

[389] Letters from Louvois to Saint-Mars, July 26 and December 18, 1665.

[390] Louvois inquired in vain as to the manner in which Fouquet had
been able to compound this sympathetic ink. “It is necessary,” he wrote
to Saint-Mars on July 26, 1665, “that you should endeavour to find out
from Monsieur de Fouquet’s servant how [his master] has written the
four lines which appeared upon the book on warming it, and of what he
has composed this writing.”

[391] The following is one of the first letters written from Pignerol
by Saint-Mars. It is one of the rare letters addressed to Colbert.
Saint-Mars made some progress in orthography after this, and the later
despatches which we have of his show a rather less imperfect knowledge
of the French language:--

  “At Pignerol, this 13 February, 1665.

“MONSEIGNEUR--I have nothing fresh to tell you; everything is going
on all right, in my humble opinion. I had been assured that there was
a man of M. Fouquet’s here in the town. I had him sought for by the
major, he has not been found; he has not shown himself before the
prisoner’s windows, and I have taken care to say everywhere that I
would not advise him to appear before the donjon, and that [if he did]
it would not be a case of live and let live. I believe that this has
frightened him. I thank you very humbly, Monseigneur, for the care
and kindness that you have for me. I have received, by the last post,
an account for the subsistence here for the present month which I am
about to draw. My company arrived here on the 9th, and has already
mounted guard. There is so much work to do here for the safety of a
prisoner that I shall not be altogether settled for three weeks. M.
Fouquet wishes to confess every month. I have given him a confessor
who is of the household of one M. d’Amorclan, a man altogether devoted
to Mgr. le Tèlier. For myself, I should approve of him; but as I have
received orders to change him continually, I shall not allow him to
confess until I receive your commands. I shall always await them with
impatience, having no stronger desire than to please you, and to call
myself all my life, Monseigneur, your very humble,” &c.--Manuscripts of
the Imperial Library, Volumes in Green, C.

[392] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, August 24, 1665.

[393] _Ibid._, August 2, 1665.

[394] _Ibid._, March 26, 1669.

[395] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, September 25, 1669.

[396] _Ibid._, December 25, 1665.

[397] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, December 13, 1670.

[398] _Ibid._, November 27, 1677.

[399] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, February 14, 1667.

[400] _Ibid._, February 24, 1665. See also letters of February 20 and
April 24, 1665.

[401] Letter of April 17, 1670. Moreover, the King from time to time
granted him gratuities. See among others, in Delort, a letter of June
4, 1666.

[402] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, October 1, 1668.

[403] Named Laforest. Five soldiers received money and were severely
punished. Laforest was arrested, condemned to death, and executed on
the spot. Despatches from Louvois to Saint-Mars, December 17, 1669, and
January 1, 1670.

[404] Letters of Louvois to Saint-Mars, November 21, 1667, October 9,
1668, January 2, 1670, April 15, 1675, and July 3, 1677.

[405] Delort, _Histoire de la Détention des Philosophes_, vol. i. p. 33.

[406] Despatches from Louvois to Saint-Mars, March 3, September 12,
1665, October 23, 1666, and April 8, 1678.

[407] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, November 22, 1667 and March 1,
1673. “There is no great inconvenience,” writes Louvois to Saint-Mars,
“in M. Fouquet’s knowing that the King has made war 011 the Dutch. So
do not persuade yourself that you have been deficient in any way in
giving him a book which has apprised him of this.”--Letter from Louvois
to Saint-Mars, July 2, 1673. “I have received your letter of the 16th
of this month, which requires no answer except to say that the King
approves your informing M. Fouquet of the current news, according as
his Majesty has already permitted you.”--Letter of April 25, 1678.




                             CHAPTER XVII.

 Sudden and singular Arrival of Lauzun in Fouquet’s Room--The
 latter had known him formerly under the Name of the Marquis de
 Puyguilhem--Lauzun enumerates his Dignities and calls himself
 the King’s Cousin--Fouquet believes his Visitor mad--Portrait of
 Lauzun--His Adventures--His Arrival at Pignerol--He continues
 his Visits to Fouquet--The Stories he tells him--Noble Conduct
 of Louis XIV. towards Lauzun--Audacious Method employed by the
 latter to overhear a Conversation between Louis XIV. and Madame
 de Montespan--Difference between the Conduct of Lauzun and that
 of Fouquet--Lauzun’s Outbursts against Saint-Mars--Perplexity
 of the latter--Singular Mode of Surveillance to which he has
 recourse--Progressive amelioration of the Lot of the two
 Prisoners--They receive Permission to see each other--Arrival of
 Fouquet’s Daughter at Pignerol--Misunderstanding between Fouquet and
 Lauzun--Cause of this Misunderstanding.


One day in the early part of the year 1672, Fouquet hears one of the
articles of furniture in his room suddenly thrown down, and perceives a
man of short stature and slender figure creep through a narrow opening
and advance smiling towards him. He is dressed in the full uniform of
Captain of the King’s Guard--blue, with red facings. Nothing except the
sword is wanting in this costume, the rich embroideries and brilliant
insignia of which offer a singular contrast to the place where it is
worn. The attitude of the new comer is haughty, and his air almost
patronizing. Fouquet hesitates to recognize in him a poor Gascon
cadet, the Marquis of Puyguilhem, without fortune or position, who
had sometimes come to him in the days of his power to borrow a little
money,[408] and who, extremely fortunate in having been received into
the house of the Marshal de Grammont, his relative, had cut a very sad
figure at court at the time of Fouquet’s arrest. What, therefore, was
the astonishment of the latter when his strange visitor, questioned
as to the causes of his detention at Pignerol, replies that they have
been set forth by the King in a letter addressed to all the French
ambassadors abroad.[409] Fouquet’s stupefaction is redoubled when he
learns that this costume is not a masquerade, and that the man whom
he had left in the lowest rank at Versailles is really Captain of
the Guard, and in addition Governor of Berri and Colonel General of
Dragoons, and that a brevet rank of General has been conferred upon
him. But when his visitor, continuing his confidences,[410] enumerates
his titles, and proclaims himself Count de Lauzun, Duke de Montpensier,
Dauphin of Auvergne, Sovereign of Dombes, Count d’Eu and de Mortaing,
and, finally, husband of the Grande Mademoiselle and cousin-german of
Louis XIV., Fouquet ceases to feel surprised. Everything is explained;
the speaker is mad; the tortures of a prolonged confinement have
unsettled his mind, and led him to take all these fancies for real.
Every one would have thought as Fouquet did, and this supposition was
certainly the most probable one.

Indeed, Lauzun, of whom La Bruyère has said, “that it is not permitted
to dream as he lived,”[411] encountered, in his existence of ninety-one
years, such diversities of fortune, such striking contrasts, such
unheard-of revolutions, that there are few heroes of the imagination
to whom one would have dared to ascribe similar adventures. Nothing
is more singular than the destiny of this Gascon cadet, reduced at
first to beg from the Surintendant, and then raised by Louis XIV. to
the highest dignities; suddenly shut up in the Bastille and succeeding
in issuing from it and marrying the legitimate granddaughter of Henri
IV.; afterwards commanding an army, and next a prisoner for ten years
at Pignerol; receiving his pardon, but refusing it; imprisoned for
the third time, then exiled, banished apparently for ever from the
presence of the King, whom he had coarsely insulted, and nevertheless
succeeding “in finding his way back to Versailles, by passing through
London,”[412] and there making a friend of James II.; fortune’s
favourite and victim by turns, without ever being enlightened by its
rebuffs, or satisfied by its favours! To obtain these he did not
hesitate at any baseness,[413] and the extreme audacity which he
sometimes gave proof of was all calculated. He had a certain boldness
of mind, but not of heart, for he was naturally mean. Nothing, unless
it be the servile humility of his beginning, equalled the insolence
with which he avenged himself for his early abasement. Addicted to
cruel raillery, prompt in witticisms,[414] he excelled in laying bare
and flagellating the absurdities to which he piqued himself on being
superior. “He is the most insolent little man,” says La Fare, “that
has been seen for a century.”[415] Devoid of dignity and endowed with
prodigious pliability, he did not hesitate to stoop to the lowest
parts, and succeeded in affecting the qualities in which he was most
deficient. But when, having gained his end, he threw aside the mask,
and became simply himself again, he inspired contempt. Of all the women
seduced by his jargon of gallantry and very deceitful appearances, he
did not attach himself to one, and the cousin of Louis XIV., over whom
he at first exercised so great a sway, died filled with hatred towards
him, and ashamed of such an unworthy husband.[416]

But, whilst Lauzun was at Pignerol, the illusions of this princess
had not yet been dissipated, and her love, increased by separation,
manifested itself in loud complaints, in violent scenes, and in
attempts to deliver him. Several times she sent agents to Pignerol, who
were to try to enter into communication with Lauzun. But they failed
in their enterprise, and were driven from the town and forbidden to
re-enter it again.[417] On his side, Lauzun, always and everywhere
destined to adventures, did not remain inactive. He thought he
might be able to escape amidst the disorder and trouble of a fire,
and with this intention set light to the flooring of his room. The
fire, soon perceived, was, however, at once extinguished. Incapable
of resigning himself to his lot, and of seeking some consolation
in study, Lauzun, breaking his furniture, gave way to all kinds of
outbursts and violence, but without succeeding in moving Saint-Mars.
Coldly impassible, the latter was equally insensible to the threats
of vengeance and to the insults of his prisoner. It was then that,
impelled by curiosity, the latter began, this time with patience
and without attracting the attention of his gaoler, to make in the
wall[418] a hole which should put him into communication with the room
situated above his own. We have seen that he succeeded in this, and how
he was received by Fouquet.

By the same route, and thanks to some precautions, the visits of Lauzun
were repeated. But, in continuing his confidences, he only confirmed
the idea of his madness.

It is thus that Fouquet, without putting faith in him, heard him relate
how to all the high offices he had obtained he had almost added one
still more elevated, that of Grand Master of the Artillery, and in what
manner he had avenged his insuccess. The King had promised him the
appointment, and, vain as thoughtless, Lauzun had hastened to announce
it, despite the secrecy agreed upon between them. Louvois, soon
informed of the projects of Louis XIV., succeeded in diverting him from
them by representing to him the disadvantages of such a choice. After
several days of vain expectation, the favourite, accustomed to please,
and hoping to be able to intimidate, watched for and seized upon a
_tête-à-tête_ with the King. He dared to call upon him to keep his
promise, and Louis XIV. having replied that he was released from it by
the indiscretion Lauzun had committed, the latter drew his sword, snapt
it in pieces, and exclaimed that he would no longer serve a prince thus
capable of breaking his promises. Pale with anger the King raised his
cane, but, suddenly mastering himself, he threw it out of the window,
saying, “that he should be very sorry to have struck a gentleman.”[419]
The next day Lauzun was taken to the Bastille.

Fouquet learned from him, without believing it any the more, a still
more audacious adventure. Lauzun had soon left the Bastille, and had
recovered the King’s favour. Beloved by Mademoiselle, he obtained
permission to marry her; but vanity again ruined him. Instead of
hastening such an unhoped-for union, he wishes to wait, in order that
sumptuous liveries may be made and that the marriage may be solemnly
celebrated in the royal chapel, in presence of the whole court, “and
as between crowned heads.”[420] He thus leaves the princes and
Madame de Montespan time to act, and Louis XIV., yielding to their
representations, withdraws the consent at first accorded. Lauzun, who
with reason distrusted Madame de Montespan, despite the assurances of
friendship she did not cease to give him, dared, in order to ascertain
the truth, to conceive a most dangerous project.[421] Taking for his
accomplice the waiting-woman of the powerful favourite, he slipped
under the bed a little before the King’s arrival, and, a witness
of their interview, he was able to convince himself that Madame de
Montespan was the inveterate enemy to whose advice Louis XIV. had
yielded. “A cough,” says Saint Simon, “the least sound, the slightest
accident, might have discovered this rash being, and then what would
have become of him? These are things the relation of which stifles and
terrifies one at the same time.”[422] Fortunately, Lauzun was able
to remain motionless. Meeting Madame de Montespan at the ballet, an
hour after the interview, he asked her in an agreeable manner whether
she had deigned to serve his cause with the King. She replied that,
far from having failed to do so, she had taken pleasure, as ever, in
extolling his services. Lauzun let her speak at length; then, suddenly,
placing his mouth to her ear, he repeated to her, word for word, the
conversation which she had just had with the King, and wound up by
calling her “liar, hussy, and jade.” Madame de Montespan succeeded in
mastering her confusion, but she never forgot this scene, and a year
after, uniting with Louvois,[423] she had brought about the fall of
the favourite and his despatch to Pignerol.

Fouquet listened to the narrative of these adventures, which were only
too real, as one reads an improbable romance. It was only much later
that he was convinced by his relations and friends of the veracity of
his companion in captivity. But during several years, not doubting his
madness, he resigned himself to listen to him out of courtesy, not
seeking occasions to see him, but carefully avoiding to contradict him;
behaving, in short, toward him as one does towards an unfortunate being
afflicted with a mild and harmless but obstinate mania.[424]

These two victims of fortune, reunited at Pignerol through such
opposite causes, and of whom one was not to leave the place alive,
whilst the other was to quit his prison to be again the hero of
singular adventures, supported their captivity in a very different
manner. “M. Fouquet only thinks of praying to God,” writes Saint-Mars,
on June 20, 1672; “he is as patient and moderate as my other prisoner
is furious.”[425] The outbursts of Lauzun had for their cause not
only the failure of his attempts at escape,[426] but also the very
arbitrary conduct of Louis XIV., inspired by Louvois. The ex-favourite
cruelly expiated the favours of which he had been the object. Not
satisfied with depriving him of his liberty, they tried in addition
to wrest from him the offices and the immense possessions that an
excessive generosity had heaped upon his head, but of which he ought
not to have been despoiled by means of the pressure easily put upon
a captive. Captain of the Body-guard, he received from Seignelay the
invitation to resign this post.[427] Endowed by Mademoiselle with
the county of Eu, the duchy of Aumale, the principality of Dombes,
and the estate of Thiers, he only recovered his liberty on condition
of renouncing all his possessions in favour of the Duke de Maine,
natural son of Louis XIV. and Madame de Montespan. At first he angrily
repulsed the proposition of Seignelay, and loaded with insults Louvois,
whose influence he recognized, and Saint-Mars, the interpreter of
Seignelay’s orders.[428] Little by little, however, calmness returned
to this spirit, till then so agitated and unquiet. Lauzun understood
with reason that everything ought to be sacrificed for liberty, and he
hoped one day to be able to return to that culminating point of fortune
from which his inconsiderate conduct had precipitated him, and which
he was in fact again to attain by a supreme effort of audacity. “At
court one must always take one thing with another; everything comes
in turn,” said Madame de Montespan to the Grande Mademoiselle.[429]
Lauzun ended by following this maxim, and, by resigning himself to
his lot, at length permitted Saint-Mars to taste some repose. ) The
unhappy gaoler had seen himself reduced, by his excessive scruples and
by the conduct of Lauzun, to the most singular extremities. Scarcely
had Fouquet renounced the hope of escape and given himself up to study
and prayer, than Lauzun had come to renew and increase the inquietude
of Saint-Mars. The ill-temper and despair of the new captive were such
that he behaved with the utmost violence[430] towards his gaoler. For a
long time insensible to his insults, Saint-Mars had at first submitted
to them with indifference; but this was soon no longer possible, and he
had to discontinue his visits. How then was he to execute the orders
received and exercise his surveillance? The unfortunate gaoler, too
much ill-treated to be able to revisit Lauzun, and too scrupulous to
leave off watching him, was in a state of extreme perplexity. His alarm
was increased by the impossibility of making his usual perquisitions,
and he was constantly representing to himself his captive imagining
and realizing a project of escape. He at length released himself from
this intolerable situation, but at what a price! For a long time
the subordinate officials of Pignerol perceived their chief gliding
stealthily amongst some trees that surrounded the donjon. Then choosing
the highest and thickest in leaf,[431] overcoming the infirmities of
age, and recovering for an instant the vigour of youth, he clasped the
gnarled trunk, climbed by degrees to the highest branches, and there,
hidden by the foliage, kept his eyes eagerly fixed upon Lauzun’s room,
from which coarse insults had banished him. From this elevated point he
observed the prisoner’s conduct without being seen by him,[432] and
thus reconciled the duties of his office with the exigencies of his
dignity. Surely never did a servant better merit the confidence of his
master; and Saint-Mars will remain without a rival amongst the gaolers
of all times.

This post of observation ceased to be impenetrable, as Louvois had
foreseen: “As the leaves have now fallen,” he wrote to Saint-Mars,
November 10, 1675, “you will no longer be able to see what M. de
Lauzun does in his room.”[433] But this fatiguing surveillance was
then rendered less necessary by the resignation and calmness of the so
long indocile captive. His submission to the orders of Louis XIV., the
proofs of a piety, more or less sincere;[434] the entreaties of Madame
de Nogent, his sister, and of several friends, obtained for Lauzun the
same favours that, for several years past, Fouquet had owed to the
accession to power of his friend Arnauld de Pomponne, and doubtless
also to the increasing influence of Madame de Maintenon.[435]

Since 1672 Fouquet had had permission to receive a letter from his
wife.[436] Less than two years afterwards he had been allowed to write
twice a year to his family.[437] Finally, from January 20, 1679, the
favours were multiplied, and the two illustrious captives obtained
all that could soften their situation. Louis XIV. authorised them to
have full liberty to meet, to take their meals, and to walk together,
to converse with the officers of the donjon, and to read all kinds of
books and gazettes.[438] Whilst Madame de Nogent and the Chevalier de
Lauzun received permission to come and visit their brother; Fouquet
had at length the happiness of seeing his wife, his daughter, the
Count de Vaux, his son, and the Bishop of Agde and M. de Mézières, his
brothers.[439] Alone and isolated for fifteen years, the Surintendant
had at last this supreme consolation, which, alas! he was not long to
enjoy. These different members of his family made a rather lengthened
stay at the citadel. But the prisoner’s daughter installed herself
there in a definite manner, and took up her quarters in rooms directly
over those of her father.[440] Almost immediately after her arrival,
Lauzun and Fouquet ceased to visit one another.[441] The cause of this
sudden misunderstanding is to be found in the gallant disposition and
enterprising audacity of Lauzun. The insolent favourite could not
recognize the devotion of Fouquet’s daughter, a voluntary prisoner,
and the touching victim of her filial affection. What passed between
these three personages can only be surmised, for no documents exist
respecting it. It is only known that, long afterwards, Lauzun paid
such frequent visits to Mademoiselle Fouquet in Paris, during which he
showed himself so familiar, that the jealousy of Louis XIV.’s cousin
was very strongly aroused.[442] It was the destiny of the Surintendant
to undergo every misfortune, and, at the moment when he seemed about to
receive some alleviation, to find suddenly in his daughter’s presence a
new source of grief and bitterness.

Was this grief at least the final one? did he die on March 22, 1680,
as has been said, or, to this expiation of his faults courageously
undergone during sixteen years at Pignerol must a still longer one be
added? Did Fouquet continue to drag on his miserable existence for
another twenty-three years, and was it to the Bastille that he went to
finish it obscurely, dead to all, his face hidden from the world, and,
as it were, surviving even himself?


FOOTNOTES:

[408] _Mémoires de Brienne_, vol. ii. pp. 195-197. _Mémoires sur
Nicolas Fouquet_, vol. ii. p. 237.

[409] In this letter Louis XIV. thought it right to explain why,
after having authorised the marriage of Lauzun with Mademoiselle, he
had withdrawn his word. The letter is dated December 19, 1670. It
is amongst the Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section
France, vol. cxcii. p. 150.--See _Madame de Montespan et Louis XIV._,
by M. P. Clément, p. 32.

[410] _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol. xiii. p. 73.

[411] La Bruyère’s _Caractères_, chapter _De la Cour_. Lauzun is
designated in it by the name of Straton.

[412] Madame de Sévigné.

[413] M. P. Clément has given with respect to this a very
characteristic letter from Lauzun to Colbert. See _Madame de Montespan
et Louis XIV._, p. 30, note 1.

[414] He had given some very witty answers--that, amongst others, made
to the Regent, whom he had asked for an abbey for his nephew, the
famous De Belsunce, bishop of Marseilles. It was some time after the
plague, during which the prelate had behaved like a hero. Despite the
promise made to Lauzun, the Regent forgot to include his relation in
the distribution of benefices, and when Lauzun questioned him on the
subject, remained silent and confused. Lauzun, with a great appearance
of respect, said, “Monsieur, he will do better another time.”

[415] Saint-Simon, whose brother-in-law Lauzun had the good fortune
to become towards the end of his life, by marrying at sixty-two years
of age the daughter, aged sixteen, of the Marshal de Lorges, is more
indulgent for his relation, whose meanness, however, he does not try to
hide.

[416] Letter of Bussy-Rabutin, vol. viii. p. 265. of Monmerqué’s
edition of the _Lettres de Madame de Sévigné_; _Mémoires de
Saint-Simon_, vol. xiii. p. 83.

[417] _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol. xiii. p. 74.--Letters from
Louvois to Saint-Mars, October 14, November 15 and 22, 1672, March 16,
and November 23, 1676.

[418] Saint-Mars only discovered the hole in the wall after the death
of Fouquet:--Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, April 8, 1680.

[419] _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol. xiii. p. 70.

[420] _Souvenirs de Madame de Caylus._

[421] Racine, _Fragments Historiques_. _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol.
xiii. p. 69.

[422] _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, _Ibid._

[423] _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol. xiii. p. 72. Segrais, a
contemporary, adds Madame de Maintenon to these two undoubted authors
of the second disgrace of Lauzun. (Segrais, _Mémoires et Anecdotes_.

[424] _Mémoires sur Nicolas Fouquet_, vol. ii. p. 450.

[425] Unpublished letter from Saint-Mars to Louvois, June 20,
1672:--Archives of Ministry of War, vol. ccxcix. fol. 48.

[426] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, June 16, 1676.

[427] Letter from Seignelay to Lauzun, November 9, 1672.

[428] Letters from Louvois to Saint-Mars, November 27, and December 5,
1672.

[429] _Mémoires de Mademoiselle de Montpensier_, vol. iv. p. 456.

[430] Letters from Louvois to Saint-Mars, November 27, 1672, and
January 16, 1674. Delort, _Histoire de la Détention des Philosophes_,
p. 43.

[431] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, November 10, 1675. Delort,
_Histoire de la Détention des Philosophes_, p. 43.

[432] It was then that he discovered Lauzun often had a telescope in
his hand, and it was taken from him.

[433] Delort, _Histoire de la Détention des Philosophes_, p. 241.

[434] Saint-Simon relates that for fear he should be imposed upon
with a false priest, to act as a spy upon him, Lauzun had asked for a
capucin, and that as soon as he saw him he seized him by the beard and
pulled it very hard, in order to assure himself that it was not false.
Saint-Simon says he had this from Lauzun himself. _Mémoires_, vol.
xiii. p. 73.

[435] _Mémoires sur Nicolas Fouquet_, vol. ii. p. 450.

[436] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, October 18, 1672.

[437] _Ibid._, April 10, 1674.

[438] Letter of Madame de Sévigné, February 27, 1697. “Memorandum of
the manner in which the King desires Monsieur de Saint-Mars to guard
for the future the prisoners in his custody,” Jan. 20, 1679:--Archives
of the Ministry of War.

[439] Letters from Louvois to Saint-Mars, May 10 and 28, 1679.

[440] Letter from the same to the same, December 18, 1679.

[441] Letter from the same to the same, January 24, 1680.

[442] _Mémoires de Mademoiselle de Montpensier_, vol. iv. pp. 401 and
473; Delort, _Histoire de la Détention des Philosophes_, p. 52.




                            CHAPTER XVIII.

 Theory which makes Fouquet the Man with the Iron Mask--Arguments
 advanced by M. Lacroix--Some to be absolutely rejected and
 some discussed--Fouquet not in possession of a dangerous State
 Secret--Madame de Maintenon--Her Character--Her Youth--Her Relations
 with Monsieur and Madame Fouquet--Her honourable Reserve--The Affair
 of the Poisons--How Fouquet’s Name became mixed up in it--Probability
 of his Death being caused by an attack of Apoplexy--Weakness of the
 other Arguments advanced by M. Lacroix--Oblivion into which the
 Surintendant had fallen--Two mysterious Arrests.


A writer of much knowledge and much imagination, M. Paul Lacroix, has
collected, in a very ingenious and cleverly written work,[443] all the
arguments that can be advanced in favour of the theory which makes
Fouquet the Man with the Iron Mask. He begins by reminding us of the
discovery, announced on August 13, 1789,[444] of a card found amongst
the papers of the Bastille, bearing these words: “Fouquet, arriving
from the Isles Sainte-Marguerite with an Iron Mask,” and signed with
three X’s and the name of Kersadion. Nevertheless, M. Lacroix very
properly abstains from counting amongst his proofs a paper, the
existence of which is not certified by any official document, and which
the wording, the strange manner in which it is said to have been found,
and the improbability of any note of this character having been made,
must equally cause to be rejected. The following are the more solid
bases of M. Lacroix’s argument:--

“The precautions employed in guarding Fouquet at Pignerol resemble in
every point,”[445] says he, “those adopted later for the Man with the
Iron Mask at the Bastille and at the Isles Sainte-Marguerite.

“The greater number of the traditions relating to the masked prisoner
appear to apply to Fouquet.

“The appearance of the Man with the Iron Mask followed almost
immediately upon the pretended death of Fouquet in 1680.

“This death of Fouquet in 1680 is far from being certain.

“Finally, political and private reasons may have determined Louis XIV.
to cause him to pass for dead, in preference to getting rid of him by
poison or in any other manner.”

These two last arguments are the only ones which need be discussed; for
the circumstantial care, excessive vigilance, and incessant precautions
of which Fouquet was the object at Pignerol were not peculiar to
this prisoner. Lauzun was treated in absolutely the same manner. The
instructions given to Saint-Mars every time a new prisoner, even the
most obscure, was confided to his care were identical. On July 19,
1669, when announcing the approaching arrival of that Eustache d’Auger,
who was to become Fouquet’s lackey, Louvois wrote to Saint-Mars as if
the fortune of the State was bound up with this man.[446] When, later,
some Protestant ministers, as unknown as they were harmless, are sent
to him at the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, there are the same detailed
and complete precautions set forth at length, and equally dear to the
circumstantial Minister[447] who enjoined them, and the scrupulous
gaoler charged with their execution.

As to the “traditions relating to the masked prisoner,” which appear to
M. Lacroix “to apply to Fouquet,” we have seen[448] that the greater
number of them are legendary, and that the others, such as the episode
of the silver dish thrown from a window, concern several Protestant
ministers, confined at the Isles Sainte-Marguerite at almost the same
date as the Man with the Iron Mask.

Finally,--and we will establish this further on,--nothing whatever
proves that the appearance of the Man with the Iron Mask dates from the
year 1680.

But if Fouquet did not die in March, 1680,--if, above all, Louis XIV.
“had political and private motives for compassing the disappearance
of the Surintendant by a supposititious death,” it is incontestable
that the theory of M. Lacroix would have a strong chance of being
accepted, since it would show what had become of this personage while
it explained in a very probable manner the mystery, exaggerated by
tradition, but nevertheless true, by which the famous masked prisoner
was surrounded. This has been perfectly understood by M. Lacroix, who
has first applied himself to contest the death of Fouquet in 1680, and
then to seek out the different causes that may have determined Louis
XIV. to suddenly separate the Surintendant from the rest of the world,
and to make the prolongation of his life a mystery impenetrable to all
except Saint-Mars.

Of these causes, those which date beyond 1680 must be peremptorily
rejected. They could not, in fact, have exercised any influence upon
Fouquet’s fate, since we have just seen this prisoner pass by degrees
from a very close and somewhat harsh confinement to a captivity much
softened by favours incessantly multiplied. From 1665 to 1672 he is
forbidden all communication, even with his relations; but from 1672
some occasional letters are first authorised, then a more regular
correspondence, next daily intercourse with the other prisoners, and,
finally, the visit and the prolonged stay of several members of his
family at Pignerol. This progress, slow, but continuous, incontestably
exists in the period extending from 1672 to 1680. It is, therefore,
only in this last year that the origin of the terrible royal anger
and of the frightful increase of punishment suddenly inflicted upon
Fouquet is to be sought for. M. Lacroix has neglected this essential
distinction, and has gathered together all the grievances, real or
pretended, of Louis XIV., without taking into consideration their
ancient date and the evident proofs of indulgent forgetfulness of the
past successively shown to the offender. It was, therefore, superfluous
to remind us[449] of the secret negotiations of the Surintendant with
England, of his projects for rendering himself independent, and of
retiring, in case of disgrace, to his principality of Belle-Isle, which
he caused to be fortified; of his eagerness to gain creatures, whom
he bought at any price, by appointing them to important offices and
giving them secret pensions; or of his pretended love for Madamoiselle
de la Vallière. With regard to all these faults the royal resentment
was appeased, and it cannot be admitted that their recollection may
have suddenly irritated Louis XIV., when for eight years he had
been manifesting towards the prisoner a clemency more obvious and
efficacious.

“Fouquet, a prisoner at Pignerol,” says M. Lacroix,[450] “still excited
hatred in Colbert and continual apprehensions in Louis XIV.: _one would
have said that he possessed some great secret, the disclosure of which
would be fatal to the_ _State_, or at least mortally wound the King’s
pride.” But upon this hypothesis, how was it that Louis XIV. authorised
the frequent intercourse of Fouquet with Lauzun, and afterwards with
the different members of his family? How was it that he was not afraid
lest these should become participators in and afterwards propagators
of this State secret? M. Lacroix enumerates all the precautions taken
by Saint-Mars during the first period of Fouquet’s detention, in order
to hinder him from imparting or receiving intelligence. But three
significant despatches show that these precautions, very minute indeed,
were only inspired by the fear of an escape, and not at all by the
apprehension of the spreading of a State secret. Three times, and for
different causes, Fouquet’s valets were dismissed. They were sent away,
one in 1665, another at the end of the following year, and the third in
1669--that is to say, when the Surintendant was in close confinement.
What became of these three persons, who for a long time had lived with
the prisoner and been in a position to receive his confidence? Were
they ever deprived of their liberty in order to bury with them this
secret, which they may have had the misfortune to become acquainted
with?

“I write you this letter,” says Louis XIV. to Saint-Mars,[451] “to tell
you that I deem it good that you should give the Sieur Fouquet another
valet, and that after the one who is ill is cured, you are to let him
go where he pleases, and the present letter being for no other end, I
pray God to take you into his holy keeping.”

“Your letter of the 28th of the past month,” writes Louvois to
Saint-Mars,[452] “has been delivered to me, and has informed me that
the valet of the Sieur Fouquet is afflicted with a very dangerous
illness. It is well to continue to have him nursed, and if, after his
cure, he does not wish to continue his services to the prisoner any
longer, prudence ordains that you should keep him in the donjon three
or four months, in order that if he has transgressed his duty, time may
fracture the measures he may have concerted with Monsieur Fouquet.”

“His Majesty leaves it to you,” he writes to Saint-Mars in 1669,[453]
“to act as you please with respect to La Rivière, that is to say, to
leave him with Monsieur Fouquet or to remove him; his Majesty counting
that, in case you remove him, you will only let him depart after an
imprisonment of from seven to eight months, in order that, if he had
taken measures to carry news from his master, it would be so stale by
that time, that it could cause no annoyance.”

We see from these despatches that if, during the sixteen years he
passed at Pignerol, Fouquet was the object of styles of treatment which
differed greatly, it was never impossible for him to render other
people depositaries of his secrets, and through them to communicate
these secrets to his friends, his relations, or foreign sovereigns,
as well as to the great lords of the court. He could have done this
in 1665, in 1666, and in 1669, by means of his servants detained only
a few months as prisoners and then dismissed without conditions. He
could have done it later still more easily through the medium either of
Lauzun or of all those who came to visit him. One must therefore reject
the idea that Fouquet was the possessor of a dangerous State secret,
and moreover, necessarily conclude from the much more humane conduct of
Louis XIV. towards the Surintendant, that the King’s former resentment
had disappeared, and that in 1680 he no longer saw in the prisoner
anything but an old man, very interesting both by his misfortunes and
his resignation.

But M. Lacroix invokes something else besides reasons of State;
according to him, the last and the most powerful of Louis XIV.’s
favourites was interested in the Surintendant’s disappearance. Formerly
the latter’s mistress, when she was the wife of Scarron, at the moment
of her marriage with the King she had exacted from him an increase of
rigour towards this troublesome Surintendant, that awkward witness of
her former weaknesses.

Will that which Madame de Sévigné calls “the first volume of Madame
de Maintenon’s life,”[454] always remain a mystery? and shall we
never know the exact beginning of this illustrious _parvenue_ who
desired to be an enigma for posterity?[455] Like all those who have
had the honour to meet with eager detractors, she has found defenders,
unreasonable without doubt, but who have shown the injustice[456] of
the passions excited against the ex-Huguenot converted to Catholicism,
and afterwards wife of Louis XIV., at the moment of the Revocation of
the Edict of Nantes and the persecution of the Jansenists. It is the
exaggeration of the attack, it is the violence of Saint-Simon, of the
Princess Palatine, and of La Fare, rather than any sudden attraction,
that has produced this change in public opinion, this current, general
to-day and highly favourable to Madame de Maintenon. Her rehabilitation
was so necessary that every one has given his adhesion, but only from
a feeling of justice. In learning to know her better one has ceased to
despise her, without loving her any the more, and one has conceived
much more esteem for her mind than inclination for her person. Never,
in fact, even when looking back through ages, does one experience
very powerful feelings on behalf of those who were deficient in
them, and dry, cold virtue, without the passion that animates, and
the struggle that vivifies it, will always lack admirers. Madame de
Maintenon not only appears austere and inflexible, but everything
with her is conventional and calculated. Her piety is not ardent in
its outbursts, like La Vallière’s, but restrained and deliberate, and
her scruples always turn to the advantage of her fortune. Not false,
but of consummate prudence; not perfidious, but always ready, if not
to sacrifice, at least to abandon her friends; loving the appearance
of good as much as good itself; without imagination, and consequently
without illusions, this woman, superior by the intellect much more
than by the heart, was armed against all allurements, and the fear of
compromising her reputation placed her beyond all perils. “There is
nothing more clever than an irreproachable conduct,” said she. This
sentence paints her perfectly, and allows one to penetrate to the
bottom of her soul. It explains and enlightens the whole of her life,
and by its aid one can understand how this woman managed to live amidst
the dangers of a light and frivolous society without succumbing,
traverse youth without experiencing its temptations, undergo poverty
with honour, hold her own at court, be constant mistress of herself,
and end by irrevocably securing in the heart of the King a place which
neither La Vallière, despite her disinterested devotion, Fontanges,
despite her powers of fascination, nor Montespan, despite her
legitimated children, had known how to preserve. To a sound judgment,
to a dignity imposing, but devoid of arrogance, to that marvellous art
of being queen without appearing to pretend to it, and of receiving
the homage of the court with quite a Christian humility; to all these
qualities, by which, as Louis XIV.’s wife, she showed herself worthy
of her destiny, Madame de Maintenon had added, from her most tender
infancy, that proud desire “for a good reputation,” in which lay her
strength. “This was my hobby,” she said later.[457] “I did not trouble
myself about riches; I was infinitely above interest. But I wished for
honour. I did not seek to be loved privately by any one whatever. I
wanted to be loved by everybody.”

Nothing indicates that her firm and decided will ever failed in
carrying out this proud engagement, undertaken in early life with
coolness and resolution. For a Saint-Simon and for a Ninon de
Lenclos, who incriminate her conduct, there are many less suspicious
witnesses who come forward in her favour. “We were all surprised,”
says the Intendant Basville, “that any one could unite such virtues,
such poverty, and such charms.” M. Lacroix[458] invokes that note
transcribed by Conrart, said to have been found in Fouquet’s casket,
and to have been written to him by Madame de Maintenon: “I do not
know you enough to love you, and if I knew you perhaps I should love
you less. I have always avoided vice, and I naturally hate sin. But I
confess to you that I hate poverty still more. I have received your
ten thousand crowns. If you will bring me another ten thousand in two
days, then I will see what I have to do.” But besides the fact that
Conrart ascribes to Madame de la Baulme this letter, the terms of
which also contrast singularly with Madame de Maintenon’s style,[459]
we know from positive proofs what were the relations both of Scarron
and his wife with the family of Fouquet. If some doubts may exist with
respect to Villarceaux, whom Saint-Simon and Ninon de Lenclos make
Madame de Maintenon’s lover, no one can fail to recognize the perfect
propriety and the dignity she exhibited in accepting the benefits of
the Surintendant. It is always to Madame Fouquet that she addresses
herself; and when the latter, charmed by so much intelligence, wishes
to have the wife of Scarron near her, she rejects with marvellous tact
a proposition full of perils both to her virtue, and, above all, to
her good fame.[460] One day, however, she was obliged, on account of
Scarron’s infirmities, to go herself to solicit Fouquet “But,” says
Madame de Caylus (and Mademoiselle d’Aumale confirms the accuracy of
this account), “she affected to go there in such great negligence that
her friends were ashamed of taking her. Every one knows what M. Fouquet
was then, his weakness for women, and how much the highest sought to
please him. This conduct, and the just admiration that it excited,
reached even the Queen’s ears.”[461]

Extreme reserve towards the Surintendant, and affectionate gratitude
towards Madame Fouquet, such were, we see, the sentiments of Scarron’s
widow; and far from having to cause a weakness to be forgotten, Madame
de Maintenon had, on the contrary, to remember the kindnesses of this
family, and for her part to contribute to the alleviation of the
prisoner’s lot.

Afterwards, in a very vague manner, and without furnishing any positive
proofs, M. Lacroix reminds us that Fouquet was mixed up in those
famous poisoning trials which revealed so many monstrous scandals and
implicated certain great personages of the court, in which, too, we see
the audacity of the crimes still further increased by the revolting
cynicism of the avowals, and which produced a profound commotion
throughout the whole of France and even abroad.

That Fouquet’s name may have been pronounced during the discussions,
one is not prepared either to contest or feel surprised at. As his
enemy, Colbert, was one of the appointed victims, and as a conspiracy
seemed to have been formed to poison him, it is very natural that
the accused persons should have invoked the recollection of the
Surintendant. But how many other names, such as those of La Fontaine
and Racine, were indicated to the lieutenant of police without their
reputations being tarnished by it! M. Lacroix, with reason, regrets
that most of the papers relating to this dark business have not been
published. They are about to be, and not one of the innumerable
documents relating to these various trials authorises us to accuse the
Surintendant.[462] As for those which have already been published,
and which include some declarations concerning Fouquet, an attentive
examination of the period at which they have been made proves that they
could have exercised no influence upon the fate of the prisoner of
Pignerol. “The woman Filastre said at the torture, that she had written
a contract by which the Duchess de Vivonne desired the restoration
of M. Fouquet and the death of M. Colbert.” But this declaration was
made some months after the Surintendant’s death.[463] We have a letter
from Louvois to the lieutenant of police, La Reynie, in which the
latter is thanked for having informed the King “what one named Debray
has said of the solicitation that was made to him by a man dependent
on Fouquet;”[464] but this letter is dated June 17, 1681, fifteen
months after the death, or, if it is preferred, the period at which
Louis XIV. had determined upon causing the Surintendant to disappear.
Would the revelations of the Marchioness de Brinvilliers be relied
upon by preference? But her trial dates from 1676, and if Fouquet had
been seriously compromised at that time, wherefore those successive
alleviations of his punishment during a period of four years?

In any case, if on such interested and doubtful depositions it be
admitted that Fouquet’s friends were the counsellors and accomplices of
a crime,[465] I can understand that, struck with the coincidence,--not
precisely exact, as we have just seen--between these accusations and
the Surintendant’s death, the suspicion might arise that the latter
was not a natural one. M. Pierre Clement, in his work, _La Police sous
Louis XIV._, has expressed this idea with extreme circumspection, and
has contented himself with uttering a doubt. He accuses no one, as he
is especially careful to declare. But he observes that the period at
which Fouquet’s death occurred rendered it an untoward[466] event. He
succumbed to an attack of apoplexy, and the nature of this complaint
would go far to accredit the theory of poison; but there conjectures
ought to stop. Let people hesitate to believe that he was really
seized with an attack of this nature: I can conceive their doing so,
although numerous reasons combine to make us place credence in it. But
everything is entirely opposed to the hypothesis of his death[467]
being simulated by Louis XIV.’s orders; and whether it was natural, or
whether it was hastened by a crime, it is unquestionably true that it
really took place in the month of March of the year 1680.

Was it, in truth, a man in a good state of health who suddenly
succumbed? It was an old man, who had been ailing for the last sixteen
years--a man unsettled by excess of blood[468]--a man whom the absence
of every kind of exercise had rendered plethoric, and who, from a busy
life and one given up for a long time to pleasure, had suddenly passed
to the privations and the inaction of captivity.

Was it a prisoner, malignant and full of strong resentment, who was
suspected of having instigated his friends to poison Colbert? No,
indeed. It was the most patient and the most resigned of captives,
who had expiated his faults by the most admirable behaviour, who had
pardoned his enemies, and whose mind, detached from the good things
of the world, was raised to the contemplation of things divine,
and who, offering his own life as an example, had devoted his long
leisure to erecting a monument of his piety for the edification of his
fellow-creatures.

Did he die mysteriously, without witnesses, save a gaoler capable of
a crime? It was in the presence of the Count de Vaux, his son, and
of his daughter,[469]--it was in their arms that he yielded up his
breath. Saint-Mars, whom all his contemporaries represent to us as
a perfectly upright man, was the sole intermediary between the King
and his prisoners. Lastly, when the news of his death arrives at the
court, Louis XIV. immediately causes an order to be transmitted to his
representatives at Pignerol “to give up Fouquet’s corpse to his family,
in order that they may have it transported whither it may seem good to
them.”[470]

These are decisive and material considerations, the value of which
cannot be destroyed by that crowd of secondary arguments which M.
Lacroix has gathered up into a heap, and put forward with very great
skill. But will even these resist a strict investigation? Can one
be astonished that the accounts of Fouquet’s death furnished by his
friends, separated from him for so long a time,[471] should differ
from one another? Is it astonishing that some should attribute his
death to suffocation, others to a fit, when we know that pulmonary
apoplexy is always accompanied by suffocation? Must we consider
as significant the uselessness of the researches made at Pignerol
by a learned Piedmontese,[472] when he himself explains it by the
suppression of the convent of Sainte-Claire, in which the body of
Fouquet was placed for the time being, by the alterations which have
taken place in the church,[473] and the dispersion of papers[474]
belonging to this monastery? Lastly, is there anything strange in
the silence of La Fontaine, in the laconism with which the _Gazette_
and _Le Mercure_ announce Fouquet’s death, and in the absence of an
ostentatious inscription in the chapel of the Convent des Filles de
la Visitation, to which his body was carried? Twenty years had passed
away since the fall of the Surintendant. But in how much shorter space
of time are services forgotten! In the especially fruitful period
from 1660 to 1680, other and more illustrious names had filled the
world’s stage and usurped fame. In that court which he had dazzled
with his splendour, Fouquet had long since been forgotten, and only a
few friends sympathized with his misfortunes. If he who has lent such
touching language to the nymphs of Vaux was silent, if the death of his
benefactor inspired him with no theme, it was not because he declined
to believe in it. But rather than suppose him insensible to it, will it
not be better to explain his silence as the result of indolence, and
abandon the thought that La Fontaine was indifferent to Fouquet’s death?

If the real sentiments experienced under these circumstances by the
fabulist are unknown to us, if the end of him who for so long kept a
portion of the court at his feet occurred almost unperceived, he had at
least the honour of being mourned by Madame de Sévigné, who was always
faithful,[475] and the consolation of being surrounded by his family on
his death-bed; while even Saint-Mars himself must have regretted this
inoffensive and resigned prisoner. A short time after Fouquet’s death
Lauzun was liberated.

But a year previous to this a few dragoons, commanded by an officer
mysteriously despatched to Pignerol, had left the citadel during the
night and taken the road to Turin. Halting at an isolated inn, far
from any other habitation, and situated a short distance from the
little river Chisola, they penetrated inside the house and concealed
themselves with such care that their presence could not be detected.
Very early the next morning a carriage containing three persons, two of
whom were priests, hastily set out from Turin. Arrived at the banks of
the stream, which was swollen by the rains, the travellers were obliged
to dismount and traverse the torrent by means of some planks hurriedly
put together. They then entered a room of the inn. Not long afterwards
the armed dragoons made their way into this room and seized one of the
travellers. An hour subsequently a carriage, surrounded by a cavalry
escort, quitted the inn and conducted the prisoner to Pignerol. Three
days later another stranger arrived in his turn at this fatal house.
Immediately surrounded and seized by the same dragoons, posted in the
same spot, he was also thrown into a carriage and rapidly whirled off
to Pignerol.


FOOTNOTES:

[443] _Histoire de l’Homme au Masque de Fer_, by M. Paul Lacroix
(Bibliophile Jacob). Paris, 1840.

[444] _Loisirs d’un Patriote Français_, number of August 13, 1789. This
card found amongst the papers of the Bastille, and which the journalist
attests having seen, also bore the number 64,389,000.

[445] _Histoire de l’Homme au Masque de Fer_, p. 175.

[446] “The King having ordered me to have one Eustache d’Auger taken to
Pignerol, it is of the utmost importance that on his arrival he should
be guarded with great security, and not allowed to give information of
his whereabouts in any manner whatever. I give you notice of this in
advance in order that you may prepare a cell in which you will confine
him securely, taking care to arrange that the openings for light of the
place, in which he will be, may not look upon places where any one may
come, and that there be enough closed doors so that our sentinels may
not be able to hear anything:”--Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, July
19, 1669.

These infinite precautions were indeed a form of style. They are to
be found in the orders given to Marshal d’Estrades, in those which
are contained in the Registers of the Secretary’s Office of the
King’s Household, and in those which are found in the _Correspondance
Administrative sous Louis XIV._ See this correspondence published by
Depping in the collection of the _Documents inédits pour l’Histoire de
France_. See also, Imperial Library, manuscripts, _Papiers d’Estrades_,
vol. xii., and Registers of the Secretary’s Office, 6653.

[447] M. Camille Rousset gives a number of proofs of the extreme
pleasure that Louvois found in a combination and excess of precautions.
(See notably vol. iii. p. 38, _et seq._ of his _Histoire de Louvois_.)

[448] Chapter V. of the present work. See pp. 62, 63, _ante_.

[449] _Histoire de l’Homme au Masque de Fer_, p. 233.

[450] _Ibid._, p. 229.

[451] Order of Louis XIV., dated October 11, 1665.

[452] Letter of Louvois to Saint-Mars, September 23, 1666.

[453] _Ibid._, September 17, 1669.

[454] Letter of Madame de Sévigné, July 7, 1680.

[455] _Correspondance Générale_, Lavallée’s edition, vol. i. p. 1.

[456] Let us cite amongst others, the fine _Histoire de Madame de
Maintenon_, of the Duke de Noailles, unhappily still unfinished; the
labours of M. Théophile Lavallée and Chapter I. Period iii. of the
curious volumes of M. Chéruel, _Saint-Simon considéré comme Historien_,
which is the necessary complement of his edition of the _Mémoires_.

[457] _Lettres Historiques et Édifiantes de Madame de Maintenon_, vol.
ii. p. 213.

[458] _Histoire de l’Homme au Masque de Fer_, p. 244.

[459] Conrart, _Manuscripts_, vol. xi. p. 151:--Archives of the
Arsenal. The same observations apply to this other letter, likewise
ascribed by M. Lacroix to Madame de Maintenon, and with as little
ground: “Until now I was so thoroughly persuaded of my strength, that I
would have defied all the earth. But I confess that the last interview
I had with you charmed me. I found in your conversation a thousand
pleasures which I had not expected; in short, if I ever see you alone,
I do not know what will happen.”

[460] _Mémoires sur Nicolas Fouquet_, vol. i. pp. 448, 449.

[461] _Souvenirs de Madame de Caylus_, pp. 10 and 11; M. Feuillet
de Conches, _Causeries d’un Curieux_, vol. ii. p. 515; M. Chéruel,
_Saint-Simon considéré comme Historien_, p. 504, _et seq._

[462] This is what I have several times been assured of by M.
Ravaisson, who, in publishing the documents relating to the Bastille,
has come across the _affaire des poisons_.

[463] M. Pierre Clément, _La Police sous Louis XIV._, p. 221.

[464] _Ibid._ p. 222.

[465] A councillor to the Parliament named Pinon-Dumartray, a relation
of Fouquet’s, was suspected of having been connected with the Sieur
Damy, who was accused of a plot against Colbert’s life.

[466] M. Pierre Clément, _La Police sous Louis XIV._, p. 221.

[467] In support of this opinion, M. Lacroix (in the work already
referred to, pp. 251, 252) speaks of a letter written by Louis XIV.
to Pope Clement X., in which he requested him “to grant him a secret
dispensation in order that he might rid himself, without form of trial,
of a man, dangerous and hurtful to his government.” M. Lacroix adds
that “Clement X. was probably opposed to the death of the prisoner at
Pignerol.” But M. Lacroix does not give this very strange letter of
Louis XIV.’s, which he terms the keystone of his theory, contenting
himself with observing: “This letter, so strange that people would wish
to deny its existence, is among the manuscripts in the _Bibliothèque du
Roi_. M. Champollion-Figeac, who discovered it three years ago among
the _papiers de Bouillaud_, told me the tenour of it at that time, at
the very moment I was setting off on a long journey. But unfortunately
he forgot to take a note of the volume containing this singular paper,
and since my return he has in vain sought to find it again. The learned
M. Libri also remembers having seen this precious document.”

The following is the truth about this letter and the origin of the
remarks of MM. Champollion-Figeac and Libri. It is in the _recueil
Bouillaud_, Manuscripts of the Imperial Library, SF 997, vol. xxxiii.,
catalogue, that this seventeenth-century collector speaks of a letter
“in which the Cardinal de Richelieu begged the King to demand from the
Pope a brief allowing him to put to death, without any form of trial,
those whom he considered deserving of it, a request which Pope Urban
VIII. refused.” M. P. Clément has already quoted this extract in note
2, p. 222 of his _Police sous Louis XIV._

M. Lacroix will thus see that his letter does not concern Louis XIV.,
Clement X., and Fouquet, but rather Louis XIII., Urban VIII., and some
unknown victims.

[468] Most of the complaints that Fouquet mentions in his letters are
due to a too great abundance of blood.

[469] Letters from Louvois to Saint-Mars, April 3 and May 4, 1680.

[470] _Ibid._, April 9, 1680.

[471] M. Chéruel, who arrives at the conclusion that Fouquet died in
March, 1680, observes, with reason, that a passage from the _Mémoires
de Gourville_ is alone in contradiction with other contemporary
testimony, but that the contradiction is only apparent. According to
Bussy-Rabutin, Fouquet was authorised in 1680 to go to the waters
of Bourbon. We have not referred to this authorisation, because no
document makes mention of it. But the report was spread about at Paris,
and it is not surprising that Gourville, writing his recollections long
after the events, should have confounded the authorisation with the
realization of this journey, and have said: “M. Fouquet having been set
at liberty----.” It is nevertheless in reference to this passage that
Voltaire writes in his _Siècle de Louis XIV._, “Hence it is not known
where this unfortunate man died, whose most insignificant actions were
of importance while he was powerful.” Voltaire has sacrificed truth to
effect of style. Madame de Sévigné knew of it: “Poor Monsieur Fouquet
is dead, I regret it; I have never lost so many friends.” Bussy knew of
it: “You know, I think of the death of Fouquet by apoplexy at the time
he was permitted to take the Bourbon waters.” The family knew of it,
since several of its members were at Pignerol in March, 1680. Gourville
was the only one who was not correctly informed; but we have just seen
in what manner and why he differs from other contemporaries.

[472] Paroletti, _Sur la Mort du Surintendant Fouquet, notes
receuillies à Pignerol_, quarto, 24 pages. Turin, 1812.

[473] _Ibid._, p. 20. Paroletti also concluded that the death of
Fouquet took place in March, 1680. There are equally the conclusions
of a work in preparation by M. Gaultier de Claubry on this special
question, and which will form part of that beautiful historical series
to which for some years past we have been indebted to the city of Paris.

[474] The ancient convent of Ste.-Claire is now a home for beggars. M.
Jacopo Bernardi, honorary grand vicar of the Bishop of Pignerol, writes
to me that in the country the death of Fouquet in 1680 is still a
tradition. I take this opportunity of thanking my obliging and learned
correspondent for the information with which he has been good enough to
furnish me about Pignerol.

[475] See especially Letters of Madame Sévigné, April 3 and 5, 1680.




                             CHAPTER XIX.

 Intervention of the Kings of France in Italy--Policy of Henri II.,
 Henri IV., and Louis XIII.--Judicious Conduct of Richelieu--Treaty
 of Cherasco--Menacing Ambition of Louis XIV.--Situation of the Court
 of Savoy on the Death of Charles-Emmanuel--Portrait of Charles IV.,
 Duke of Mantua--The Marquisate of Montferrat and Casale--The Count
 Matthioly--His political Career--His Character--The Abbé d’Estrades
 and Giuliani--Proposal to cede Casale to Louis XIV.--Interview at
 Venice between Charles IV, and the Abbé d’Estrades--Journey of
 Matthioly to Versailles--He communicates the Project formed to the
 Enemies of France--How is his Conduct to be estimated?


It is almost always unwisely that the Kings of France have intermeddled
in the affairs of Italy. Their occupations have never been lasting,
because they have been in opposition to the true interests of France,
and have violated natural boundary laws imposed upon the two countries
by their geographical configurations. Charles VIII. conquered the
Kingdom of Naples, but Louis XII. lost it. The latter took possession
of the Milanese, but Francois I. was obliged to evacuate it; and by
giving up Piedmont, which his father had made himself master of, Henri
II. completed this retrograde movement. After having quitted the false
path into which his three predecessors had dragged France, Henri II.
indicated where the frontiers were to be enlarged, where national
conquests were to be made, and what was the true direction to be
given to her armies. He took Calais, thus pointing out the road to the
Netherlands, and by becoming the master of the Trois-Evêchés he opened
to his successors the glorious road to Alsace and the Rhine. While he
was so happily inaugurating a new struggle, he was also establishing
the basis of a new policy obscurely foreseen by Francois I., but the
merits of which certainly belong to Henri II. The latter understood
that the most effectual way of contending with the Emperor of Germany,
the head of the Catholic party, was to ally himself with the German
Princes and the Reformed party; and if he was too early interrupted
in his scheme by a violent death--if the minority or the weakness of
his children for a long time suspended its execution--it was again
undertaken, and we know with what success, by Henri IV., Richelieu,
Mazarin, and Louis XIV. To assure the neutrality of Spain, to watch
Italy without attempting to establish himself there, to lead all his
forces towards the North and the East, and to extend in this direction
the frontiers, which were too near to the capital: such was the
glorious policy of Henri IV., suspended for a time after his death, but
worthily continued by his successors.

At the same time it cannot be said that the latter were indifferent
to the affairs of Italy. When, in 1627, the Dukes of Savoy and
Guastalla, aided by the House of Austria, wished to secure to Charles
de Gonzaga the Duke of Mantua’s inheritance, Louis XIII. loudly
proclaimed the cause of this legitimate heir, and ensured the triumph
of his rights. Rendered by victory master of the destiny of the House
of Savoy, Richelieu did not allow himself to be dazzled by success.
This incomparable politician understood that to dispossess an Italian
dynasty and to establish himself on the other side of the Alps,
would necessarily result in uniting the Italians to the Spaniards,
in provoking against the French (who had suddenly become unpopular,
even by their presence) a coalition sooner or later victorious, and
creating, in fact, outside the natural sphere of action of France,
incessant grounds of anxiety, jealousies, struggles, and alarms. Thus,
in 1631, by the treaty of Cherasco, the skilful Minister, sacrificing
many of the fruits of his victory, restored Piedmont and Savoy,
contenting himself with retaining Pignerol, so as always to keep open
one of the passes into Italy. To watch over her without alarming
her, to be a protector of the rights of the Italian Princes without
menacing their independence, to exact complete confidence from them in
return, to baffle the intrigues of the Spaniards, and to allow them to
accumulate on themselves hatred and resentment; to assume, in a word,
an attitude passive yet vigilant, firm but not menacing, such was the
judicious conduct of Richelieu towards Italy.

Louis XIV. long remained faithful to this policy. It was towards the
North and East that he led his victorious armies, and by a succession
of enterprises, happily conceived and wonderfully well-conducted,
he extended the frontiers of France in the proper direction; and,
arbitrator of Europe, at the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, and subsequently
at that of Nimeguen, he inspired her with fear and admiration. In these
two cities his will alone was the sole basis of the negotiations. While
for every one the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle had never appeared to be
aught but a truce, that of Nimeguen combined all the conditions of a
definitive peace. But even before this famous treaty was signed, Louis
XIV. had conceived ambitious projects on the other side of the Alps,
and the possession of Pignerol and the neighbouring valleys no longer
appeared to him sufficient for the part he was desirous of playing
in Italy. The influence of his government had, however, been better
accepted there, when it was more dissembled, and when everything that
could give the slightest offence had been avoided with the greatest
care. But, when the policy of Richelieu and Mazarin, scrupulously
continued by De Lionne, had ceased to prevail--when the invading and
impetuous Louvois established a sort of military diplomacy, which
he directed as he pleased--the sentiments of the Italians, and in
particular of the Piedmontese, became somewhat modified: confiding
deference gave place to restrained apprehension, and led by degrees to
a hatred which burst out against France at the moment she was oppressed
by coalitions and defeats.

Charles-Emmanuel, Duke of Savoy, had just died, leaving as his
successor a child, under the guardianship of a mother,[476] vain,
ardent, and impassioned, and whom littleness of mind, as much as
hastiness of character, led to exaggerated resistance, soon to be
followed by humiliating concessions. Instead of showing himself the
disinterested protector and sincere counsellor of Victor-Amadeus,
Louis XIV. sought from that time forward to become powerful in Italy
by profiting by the weakness of this government, the vanity of the
Regent, the inexperience of her son, and by the passions aroused in
this court around a frivolous and capricious woman. By an altogether
opposite line of conduct he might have eternally attached to himself
the young Duke, who, instead, was later to become his adversary, not
the most formidable, but certainly the most inconvenient, and who
was to contribute, above all others, to the diversion created in the
South, to paralyze the power of France, and place her within an inch of
her ruin. Victor-Amadeus has been represented, and with reason, as a
perfidious enemy and unreliable ally. But, in the first place, it was
the conduct of his mother, and afterwards that of Louis XIV., which
early disposed this prince to dissimulation. Left in retirement by a
hard and ambitious Regent, with his friends watched and suspected, and
himself isolated, yet not a stranger to the interests of his States,
taciturn, but thoughtful and observant, more patient than resigned, he
was submitting with apparent indifference to a double and oppressive
guardianship, from which he only awaited the opportunity to escape or
to be revenged. From this moment Louis XIV. himself prepared those
disasters which were to mark the end of his reign. Whilst those
audaciously arbitrary decisions of the _Chambres de Réunion_ for the
aggrandisement of France by conquests made in full peace, profoundly
irritated the North of Europe, he was about to agitate the South by
pretensions equally extravagant, for a long time concealed, then boldly
disclosed, and which tended to nothing less than to place a part of
Italy under his exclusive dominion.

The complacency, or at least the neutrality, which the vanity and
weakness of the Regent assured to Louis XIV., in Piedmont, was rendered
not less certain in Mantua by the frivolous indifference of Charles
IV., its young duke. This prince, a degenerate representative of the
House of Gonzaga, which has produced so many great men, and mingled
its blood with the most illustrious families of Europe, showed himself
unworthy of his rank and of his name, by the most extravagantly
dissipated conduct. Careless and thoughtless, he was quite indifferent
to the interests of his duchy, leaving its administration to
incompetent favourites; and himself a non-resident duke, was in
the habit of spending the greater part of his existence amidst the
pleasures of Venice, and only dreaming of returning to Mantua, when the
pressing need of money called him thither. A great gambler, and lavish
in his expenditure, he had soon exhausted in fêtes and adventures
the remnants of a fortune and of an equally broken constitution.
Anticipating the revenues of his duchy, he had just obtained from
some Jews advances on the taxes for several years.[477] This sum was
soon squandered, and Charles IV. deprived of resources, but not less
eager for pleasure, ruined, but not less anxious to assist at all the
festivals given outside his States, was reduced to expedients, and
in a manner compelled to sell himself. He was not long in finding a
purchaser.

Under his authority was placed the marquisate of Montferrat--that rich
and fertile country, so perpetually sought after, and the possession
of which was frequently contested by arms. Taken by the Romans from
the Goths, then by the latter from the Lombards, afterwards forming a
portion of the Empire of the West, eventually becoming an hereditary
fief, several times claimed by the House of Savoy, conquered by Charles
Emmanuel, then evacuated, this country had at length been annexed to
the Duchy of Mantua, from which vast States, nevertheless, separated
it. Casale was its capital. This fortified place, situated on the Po,
fifteen leagues to the east of Turin, was of the utmost importance, and
especially to Piedmont. From very remote times the Court of Turin had
coveted this natural dependency, which the defeats of Louis XIV. and
the conduct of Victor Amadeus would one day secure to it.

That the Duke of Mantua should possess this territory, bordering on
Piedmont, was no doubt an anomaly, but was scarcely dangerous. The
King of France, on the contrary, being already master of Pignerol,
on securing possession of Casale, would, in reality, enclose the
Court of Turin between two formidable places, of which the one to the
south-west gave access to the passage of the Alps, and the other,
to the north-east, commanded the road to the Milanese. This was the
project formed by Louis XIV. The intrigue was mysteriously commenced
in 1676; but for a long time previously he had turned his attention
to this important town. On September 17, 1665, a few days subsequent
to the death of Charles III., the preceding Duke of Mantua, he had
hastened to send to the Regent, mother[478] of Charles IV., the Sieur
d’Aubeville, instructed to insist “that no change should be tolerated
in the garrison of Casale during the minority of the young Duke”.[479]
This demand, which was very natural on account of the contiguity of
the Spaniards, seemed--and, perhaps, was, at the time--extremely
disinterested. In 1676, however, he no longer troubled himself with the
maintenance of a Mantuan garrison at Casale, but rather with throwing
the place open to his own troops.

One of the great personages of Mantua was Ercole Antonio Matthioly.
He was born at Bologna, December 1, 1640, and belonged to an old and
distinguished family of the long robe. His grandfather, Constantino
Matthioly, had been raised to the dignity of senator. One of his
uncles, Ercole Matthioly, a Jesuit father, was a very celebrated
orator.[480] He himself early attracted attention by obtaining, when
only nineteen years of age, the prize in civil and canon law, and
shortly afterwards the title of professor at the University of Bologna.
He subsequently made himself still further known by several much-prized
works; and after having formed an alliance with an honourable
senatorial family of Bologna, established himself at Mantua, where his
talents, dexterity, and early maturity caused him to be appreciated
by Duke Charles III. de Gonzaga, one of whose Secretaries of State he
became. After this prince’s death, his son, Charles IV. de Gonzaga,
when he attained his majority, accorded his friendship to Matthioly,
whom he named Supenumerary Senator of Mantua, a dignity to which the
title of Count was attached. Filled with ambition, Matthioly not only
hoped to reacquire the office of Secretary of State, but also to become
the principal Minister of his young master. Knowing his position to
be most precarious, he was ardently desirous of rendering him one
of those signal services which justify the highest rewards, and an
occasion offered itself during the latter months of the year 1677.

The Abbé d’Estrades,[481] then ambassador of Louis XIV. to the Venetian
Republic, was as ambitious and as restless as Matthioly. Belonging to a
family of _diplomates_, and anxious to become illustrious in his turn,
he had the cunning to enter resolutely into the views of the Court of
Versailles, and knowing very well, moreover, that his conduct would
be approved, to concoct the intrigue which was to end in the cession
of Casale to the King of France. Having long since been acquainted
with the condition of the Court of Mantua and with the individuals
holding the chief rank in it, he cast his eyes upon Matthioly as
being, from his character, the most likely to embrace the project of
surrender, and by using his influence over his master, to induce him
to adopt it. But before entering directly into communication with
Matthioly, he sent to Verona, where the latter frequently resided,
one Giuliani,[482] a perfectly sure man, whom his occupation of
journalist obliged to travel from place to place to collect news, and
whose stay at Verona consequently would not excite suspicion. Giuliani
had Matthioly watched, and, observing him himself, ascertained his
aversion to the Spaniards, from whom he had never received anything but
hopes. By degrees the connection became closer, and Giuliani was able
to indicate to him without danger the plans of the Abbé d’Estrades,
the pecuniary advantages which the Duke of Mantua would derive from
the surrender of Casale to Louis XIV., and the security as well as the
honour of an alliance with so powerful a sovereign. Matthioly leapt at
the proposition,[483] and undertook to expound it to the Duke, whom
he had no great difficulty in convincing. The intercourse soon became
more direct. Giuliani saw Charles IV. at Mantua, and it was agreed that
an interview between the latter and the Abbé d’Estrades might take
place at Venice with all the more secrecy, “as, in consequence of the
Carnival, every one, even the Doge, the oldest Senators, the Cardinals,
and the Nuncio, goes about masked.”[484] Louis XIV. and M. de Pomponne,
his Minister,[485] congratulated the Abbé d’Estrades with effusion on
the propitious commencement of this delicate negotiation,[486] and on
January 12, 1678, the King himself did not disdain to write to Count
Matthioly, in order to thank him.[487]

Matthioly and Charles IV., in fact, proceeded to Venice. They first
discussed with the Abbé the price of the surrender, which was fixed at
100,000 crowns,[488] payable after the exchange of the ratifications
of the treaty, and in two sums at three months’ interval. At midnight
on March 13, 1678,[489] the Ambassador of the King of France and the
Duke of Mantua met, as if by chance, in the middle of a public square
on leaving a ball, and there, away from every inquisitive ear, and
concealed from every glance by a mask similar to those then worn by
all noblemen at Venice, conversed for quite an hour concerning the
conditions of the treaty, the payments of the stipulated price, and
the manner in which Louis XIV. should defend Charles IV. against
the effects of the resentment of the Venetian Republic and the
Spaniards. Distrustful as were the Italian princes, disposed as the
Venetian Republic may have been to suspect an intrigue, and prevent so
dangerous an intervention as that of the King of France in the north
of Italy, numerous and accomplished as were the spies who swarmed
in Venice, it was in this same city, almost under the very eyes of
the representatives of the different powers, that the bases of a
treaty which was one of the most menacing to the independence of the
Peninsula, were settled, in a mysterious and impenetrable manner.

With the same precautions, and always without attracting the attention
of the other princes, Charles IV. saw the Abbé d’Estrades several
times afterwards. It was arranged between them that Matthioly should
proceed secretly to France, and that he should sign at Versailles, in
the name of his master, the definitive treaty which would permit Louis
XIV. to penetrate into the north of Italy. This journey of Matthioly’s
was delayed for some months, first by a rather lengthened illness,
which kept him at Mantua, then by Louis XIV.’s desire to defer till
the following spring,--that is, till April, 1679,--the despatch of his
troops to Casale.[490] At the end of October, 1678, Count Matthioly
and Giuliani, in order to avert suspicion, announced their intention
of paying a visit to Switzerland, and, in fact, proceeded thither,
traversed it,[491] and arrived in Paris on November 28. At once placed
in communication with M. de Pomponne, Minister of Exterior Relations,
they discussed, and drew up in the most profound secrecy, the treaty of
cession, which was signed on December 8,[492] and which stated:--

1st. That the Duke of Mantua should receive French troops into Casale;

2nd. That he should be named Generalissimo of any French army which
Louis XIV. might send into Italy;

3rd. And that after the execution of the treaty the sum of 100,000
crowns should be paid to the prince.[493]

Immediately after the signing of this document, Matthioly was received
by Louis XIV. with the most flattering distinction in a secret
audience. The King presented him with a valuable diamond in remembrance
of his visit, caused him to be paid 400 double louis,[494] and promised
him that after the ratification of the treaty he should receive a much
larger sum for his reward, as well as a place for his son among the
King’s pages, and a rich abbey for his brother.[495]

No intrigue was ever better conducted or had more chances of success.
In Piedmont a court divided, powerless, and almost servilely devoted
to France; in the remainder of Italy, as in Piedmont, princes kept in
the most complete ignorance; in Mantua a duke perfectly ready to sell
a portion of his states; lastly, the two ambassadors charged with the
negotiation of this affair having an equal interest in its success,
since it would enrich one and assure to both the gratitude of their
masters, and a high position.

Two months after Matthioly’s visit to France, the courts of Turin,
Madrid, and Vienna, the Spanish Governor of the Milanese, and the State
Inquisitors of the Venetian Republic--that is to say, all those who
were most interested in opposing this project--were acquainted with
the minutest details of it, and were ignorant neither of the price to
be paid for the surrender, the time at which it was to take place, nor
the names of the negotiators. In one word, they knew everything, for
at different times[496] they had received the confidence of the better
informed of the participators in this intrigue, of Count Matthioly
himself.

By what motive was he actuated? Must we see in this treason an act
inspired by base cupidity? Was Matthioly a rogue, who, after having
received Louis XIV.’s money, preceeded to sell himself by turns to
the Austrians, the Spaniards, the Venetians, and the Piedmontese?
Or, disquieted in mind and suddenly struck by the apparition of
his country in danger, was he seized with remorse at the moment of
bartering her away, and did he seek the only means of preserving her
from the encroachments of an ambitious King? Was he an intriguer, a
low informer, or a man struggling between two opposing sentiments,
whose greedy ambition had first led him to assist his master’s criminal
projects, and whose patriotism had then suddenly determined him to
cause them to miscarry? These are questions which nobody will ever be
able to answer, because nobody ever received his confidences. It is,
however, worthy of remark, that if cupidity alone had been Matthioly’s
motive, he would have stooped to the execution of the treaty of
Casale, since this offered him many more material advantages than he
could hope for from a sudden change of conduct. That Matthioly should
be designated a rogue in the despatches afterwards exchanged between
the Court of Versailles and the French representatives in Italy, is not
at all astonishing; this anger was the natural consequence of a bitter
disappointment. But the fact that there was room for a more noble
motive, and that a patriotic inspiration was possible, is sufficient to
prevent us from unreservedly condemning this man, who perhaps thought
to save his country. No doubt he ought to have cast aside all the
appearances of knavery, to have returned Louis XIV. his presents, to
have first dissuaded Charles IV., and if the latter had persisted in
introducing the French army into Italy, then, and then only, to have
revealed the danger to the other princes. In this case it would have
been necessary to do it openly, with frankness, without dissimulation,
and by informing the Abbé d’Estrades of what would have no longer
been a treason, but a truly patriotic act. Was, however, such a line
of conduct open to Matthioly, surrounded with spies, watched over and
having to fear a power so formidable as France, and a resentment so
dangerous as Louis XIV.’s? Must we altogether blame him if he could
not strip his character of all its craftiness and duplicity, and if,
amid the dishonouring appearances of treason, he thought to perform
an honourable act? To the present time people have seen in him only a
contemptible cheat, but however weak the contrary presumption may be,
do not let us altogether reject it. Let us cease to place ourselves
only in the French point of view, and by considering the peril to
which Italy would have been exposed by the cession of Casale, let us
not refuse to suppose that Matthioly, by preventing it, understood,
perhaps, the interest of his country better than his own, and that,
into a mind naturally greedy, a noble and disinterested sentiment was
able to penetrate.


FOOTNOTES:

[476] Marie-Jeanne-Baptiste de Nemours, widow of Charles-Emmanuel and
mother of Victor-Amadeus II.

[477] Despatch of the Marquis de Villars to Pomponne, January 8,
1677:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Savoy, 66.

[478] Isabella Clara of Austria, daughter of the Archduke Leopold, who
was grandson of the Emperor Ferdinand III. She was married June 13,
1649, to Charles III., Duke of Mantua.--_Trans._

[479] Unpublished letter of Louis XIV.:--Archives of the Ministry of
War, vol. dcxxxv, p. 36.

[480] Unpublished letter from Matthioly to the Empress Eleonora of
Austria:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Mantua,
5; _Arbor priscæ nobilisque masculinæ familiæ de Matthiolis_:--Archives
of the Empire, M. 746; _L’Italia regnante_, di Gregorio Leri, part
iii., Geneva, 1676, duodecimo, pp. 161-173.

[481] Son of Godefroi, Count d’Estrades, long employed in diplomatic
negotiations in Holland and appointed a Marshal of France on the death
of Turenne.--_Trans._

[482] A despatch from Varengeville, ambassador at Venice, to Pomponne,
July 1, 1679, given by Delort, states that Giuliani “is a little editor
of newspapers, in whose shop the letters of news are written, as it is
not the custom here [Venice] to print them. He works at this himself,
as well as at copying for the public; and his situation in this town
answers to that of the Secretaries of St. Innocent at Paris. Therefore
it would be a very improper thing to give a secretaryship of embassy to
a man of this profession [as the Abbé d’Estrades had proposed to do],
who, besides, in other respects, does not appear to me fit to properly
fill such an employment.... But as he is a sort of ferret who works out
and gets at all that is passing, I think it is necessary to encourage
his zeal by some such gratification as forty or fifty pistoles a year,
or whatever shall be approved of by his Majesty.”--_Trans._

[483] Despatches from the Abbé d’Estrades to Louis XIV., December 18,
1677; from the same to Pomponne, December 24, 1677; January 1 and 29,
1678. These have been given by Delort, as well as all those to which
the word “unpublished” is not prefixed. Delort had seen and made use
of the Mantua and Venice series, but not of that of Savoy, in which
the most curious and interesting are to be found, because the Abbé
d’Estrades, after having filled the post of ambassador at Venice, was
sent in the same capacity to Turin.

[484] Despatch from D’Estrades to Louis XIV., December 18, 1677.

[485] Simon Arnaud de Pomponne, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs
at this epoch. In spite of his admittedly high character, he fell
into disgrace in the course of the following year, mainly through the
intrigues of Colbert, with whom he was at enmity, and whose brother was
promoted to his post.--_Trans._

[486] Letters from Louis XIV. and Pomponne to the Abbé d’Estrades,
January 12, 1678.

[487] “MONSIEUR LE COMTE MATTHIOLI,--I have perceived from the letter
that you have written to me, and from what my ambassador, the Abbé
d’Estrades, has informed me, the regard that you show for my interests.
You cannot doubt but that I am much obliged to you for it, and that
I shall have much pleasure in giving you proofs of my satisfaction
upon every occasion. Referring you, therefore, to what will be said
to you more particularly on my behalf by the Abbé d’Estrades, I shall
not lengthen this letter more than to pray God that he will have you,
Monsieur le Comte Matthioli, in his holy keeping.

  “LOUIS.”


[488] 12,500_l._--_Trans._

[489] Despatch from D’Estrades to Louis XIV., March 19, 1678.

[490] Letters from Pomponne to D’Estrades, April 13, 1678; from
D’Estrades to Pomponne, April 30, May 21, and June 11, 1678; from
Pomponne to D’Estrades, June 15 and 22; Letters from Pinchesne,
Secretary of the French Embassy at Venice, to Pomponne, September 3 and
17, 1678.

[491] Letter from Pinchesne to Pomponne, November 19, 1678.

[492] Letter from Pomponne to Pinchesne, December 2, 1678.

[493] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Mantua.

[494] 760_l._--_Trans._

[495] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Mantua,
Italian Manuscript of Giuliani.

[496] Despatches from D’Estrades to the King, which will be referred to
hereafter:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Savoy,
68.




                              CHAPTER XX.

 The Regent of Savoy’s Perplexity--She discloses Matthioly’s Conduct
 to Louis XIV.--Arrival of Catinat at Pignerol--Arrest of the Baron
 d’Asfeld and his Imprisonment at Milan--The Abbé d’Estrades the First
 to conceive the Project of Matthioly’s Abduction--Despatches of the
 Abbé d’Estrades detailing the Abduction and the Incarceration of
 Matthioly--Means adopted in order to recover the official Documents
 connected with the Negotiation--Mystery surrounding Matthioly’s
 Disappearance--His family Dispersed and remaining silent and powerless.


The regent of Savoy was the first[497] to whom Matthioly gave
information. On December 31, 1678, she not only received his
confidence, but also had communicated to her all the original documents
relating to the negotiation, and took copies of them. She was alike
very pleased at knowing of this intrigue, and very much embarrassed
as to the line of conduct she ought to pursue. Piedmont, indeed,
had most to suffer from the surrender of Casale to Louis XIV. To
oppose the execution of this project by arms, was far from the wish
of this princess and far beyond the forces at her disposal. To place
obstacles in the way of it exposed her to the resentment of the King
of France. After having hesitated for a long time, and not doubting
but that Matthioly would, without delay, make the same revelations
to the Spaniards and Austrians as he had to her, she preferred to
leave to Spain and to the Empire the dangerous task of arresting
Louis XIV.’s encroaching ambition in Italy. But to preserve silence
and prudently await the result of the struggle, either armed or
diplomatic, which seemed likely to ensue, was not in accordance with
the frivolous character and general incapacity of this princess. To
whom, then, was she to confide this weighty and embarrassing secret?
She was too little of an Italian to resolve to make it known at Milan,
Venice, and Florence, and thus provoke a coalition of the various
interests which were menaced. So it was to Louis XIV. himself that she
revealed Matthioly’s confidences.[498] In this manner, she secured to
herself the merit of obliging a powerful sovereign, whose friendship
she retained without having anything to fear from him, thanks to
the vigorous measures which the courts of Vienna and Madrid would
be compelled to take. She deceived herself, however, in a portion
of her calculations; since it was not till two months afterwards
that Matthioly, on seeing the uselessness of his confession to the
regent, and learning that Louvois was continuing his preparations for
entering into Casale, resolved to inform the Austrians, Venetians, and
Spaniards.[499] If he had not done so, the King of France, meeting with
no obstacle, and having received the Duchess of Savoy’s valuable piece
of intelligence, would have immediately taken possession of Casale.
Louis XIV. was greatly moved, and with reason felt very grateful to
the regent for her course of action. He expresses in his despatches
sentiments of gratitude and of esteem towards the Duchess of Savoy,
whilst he stigmatizes what he terms the treason of the knave. But,
deceived as he had been by the one and enlightened by the other, was he
in a position to judge properly the conduct of these two individuals?
And, to place ourselves in another point of view to his, we may ask
who most compromised the true interests of this country, the man whose
information--sold,[500] it is true, but well-timed--suddenly aroused
the other princes to vigilance; or the princess, who, more French than
Italian, hastened to communicate this valuable confidence to Italy’s
most redoubtable and menacing enemy?

The regent’s letter reached Louis XIV. in the middle of the month of
February, 1679. The King’s disappointment and wrath were so much the
more lively since his plans were already in course of execution. All
those who were to play a part in the _dénoûment_ of this business were
not only appointed, but were actually at their posts. The far-sighted
Louvois, who, previous to Napoleon, was, perhaps, the man who possessed
in the highest degree the genius of organization and the spirit of
detail, had drawn up--a quality in which he excelled--the whole plan
of the operation. His orders, clear, precise, and minute, had been
punctually followed. Numerous troops, under the command of the Marquis
de Boufflers, Colonel-General of Dragoons, were assembled at Briançon
ready to cross the frontier.[501] The Baron d’Asfeld,[502] Colonel of
Dragoons, left for Venice, on the mission of exchanging in that city
the ratification of the treaty.[503] Catinat,[504] then Brigadier of
Infantry, arrived from Flanders, where he had already served with
distinction, and proceeded with the greatest secrecy to Pignerol.
Saint-Mars had been enjoined[505] to leave the postern of the citadel
open, to meet himself the mysterious traveller, and to conduct him into
the donjon in such a manner that nobody might be able to suspect his
presence there. This sham prisoner was even obliged to change his name,
and the despatches addressed to him bore that of Richemont instead
of Catinat.[506] Everything had been marvellously well conceived,
everything was prepared, everything foreseen, save what the Government
of Versailles termed the treason of Matthioly.

Nevertheless, the Duchess of Savoy’s communication did not entirely
destroy Louis XIV.’s hopes; so he refrained from informing the Abbé
d’Estrades, who had been transferred from the embassy of Venice to
that of Turin. He wished to look upon these first disclosures as only
a commencement of treason,--an accident to be regretted, it is true,
but one of which the consequences might perhaps be neutralized by
exercising a pressure upon the Duke of Mantua, and by endeavouring
to intimidate Matthioly. But the latter had become as laconic in
his letters as he was inexact in keeping his appointments. The Abbé
d’Estrades, very much preoccupied with the result of a negotiation
of which he had been the life and soul, only suspected a treason the
full reality of which he was not yet acquainted with. He sent courier
after courier to M. de Pinchesne at Venice, to Mantua for Matthioly, to
the principal towns of Italy for Duke Charles IV.; and from all these
different places he received the most unsatisfactory intelligence.
Sometimes Matthioly declared that he was detained at Verona by the
state of his health. At others, Charles IV. was attracted to Venice
by the desire of assisting at a _carrousel_.[507] It was not that the
Duke formally refused to execute the treaty of surrender, but that new
obstacles were continually being raised by the very person who till
then had undertaken the direction of this affair--by Matthioly himself;
and the young prince, thoughtless and frivolous, of a very versatile
disposition, and devoting himself to scarcely anything but pleasure,
was very glad to endorse his favourite’s views. Suddenly the news
arrived at Turin that Baron d’Asfeld had been arrested by the governor
of the Milanese while proceeding to Increa in order to exchange the
ratifications there with Matthioly, and that he was detained a prisoner
by the Spaniards.[508] However significant this arrest may have been,
the Court of Versailles did not yet despair. Catinat received orders to
undertake the mission at first confided to D’Asfeld, and to start for
Increa, whither Matthioly was also invited to proceed.[509] The sham
Richemont, accompanied by Saint-Mars, who adopted the name and dress
of an officer belonging to Pignerol, left the citadel by night, and,
with numerous precautions, repaired to the place of meeting. But there
they awaited Matthioly in vain, and after many adventures, after having
run the risk of being arrested by a detachment from the garrison of
Casale, after having been compelled to appear before the governor of
that place, and having preserved their incognito with difficulty, they
at last returned to Pignerol, very happy at not having been recognized,
but without bringing back the instrument of surrender.[510]

From this moment the doubts of the Abbé d’Estrades were changed
into certainty, and it was then that he first conceived the idea of
Matthioly’s abduction. It is worthy of remark that it so happened
with this prisoner as with Avedick. Louis XIV. approved the conduct
of d’Estrades as he was afterwards to ratify that of Ferriol. But
it is his ambassadors who have executed the project of abduction,
even before receiving the authorisation for doing so. This is clear
from the evidence of the despatches which we are about to quote. It
is, in truth, necessary to allow the principal author of this act of
violence to speak for himself, which we shall do hereafter more than
once; for, on approaching the conclusion of this work, we desire the
reader to be self-convinced, and thus to participate in the pleasure
which the solution of a problem affords. Having spared him long but
necessary researches, we shall in future often confine ourselves to
being his guide; and by now and then putting him on the right track,
by contenting ourselves with indicating the goal, and furnishing the
elements of the pursuit, shall leave him all the gratification and all
the merit of the success of our common enterprise.

On April 8, 1679, D’Estrades writes to M. de Pomponne:--[511]

 “... It is easy to discern, from what one learns on many sides, that
 it is owing to Mattioli’s indiscretion that this affair has become
 public, for it would be impossible for the particulars of it, and even
 those of his journey to Paris, and of the stay which he made there,
 to be so well known if he had not talked about them.... Still I am
 awaiting Mattioli’s arrival here in order to see if one can rely upon
 his good faith, and if he is in a position to perform what he has
 promised. I shall have him so well watched that I shall know if he
 holds any communication with Madame de Savoy or with the Ministers,
 and I shall perhaps also find the means of being informed concerning
 what he may be treating of with them. I beg you, sir, to let me know
 if, in the event of there being no doubt of his perfidy, and of its
 being necessary to compel him by fear to put everything in train for
 keeping his word, the King will approve his being taken to Pignerol,
 which will not be at all difficult for me to accomplish without its
 attracting attention; because, after his arrival there, without any
 one knowing that I had caused him to be abducted, it would be easy
 to say that he had gone of his own accord. Nevertheless, I shall not
 think of doing this until I have received your orders, and it would
 only be after having lost all hope with regard to him that we should
 adopt these measures.”

On April 22,[512] M. de Pomponne replies to him:--

 “Sir, I shall commence by replying to the two letters which you
 have been at the pains to write me on the 8th of the present month
 concerning the affair of Count Mattioli. His behaviour is sufficient
 to make us believe that he is a rogue; but, in order to assure you
 the better of it, his Majesty orders me to confide to you, under the
 seal of secrecy, what has occurred with reference to this matter. On
 the occasion of his journey to Turin, he informed the Duchess of Savoy
 generally of the papers with which he was charged, and of everything
 which had been arranged with him here. He has since given the same
 information to the Inquisitors of Venice, and caused M. d’Asfeld to
 be arrested during his journey in the Milanese, by the information
 which he gave to Count de Melgar. As he thinks that all this knavery
 is unknown, he has been in the habit of trifling with M. de Pinchesne,
 and you see by the letters which he writes to you that he wishes to
 trifle with you in the same manner. As he proposes to visit you at
 Turin, his Majesty does not wish you to let him know that you are
 acquainted with his conduct. You will continue to let him think that
 you are deceived, and you will make use of your apparent confidence,
 and of that which you will assure him the King continues to have, in
 order to endeavour to obtain the ratification of the treaty. He has
 stated at Venice that he has it in his possession. Perhaps he has it
 still. It is important to exert all your skill to obtain it from him.
 The King does not consider it advisable to cause the scandal of having
 him taken to Pignerol as you propose. The only case in which you could
 employ menaces and fear, would be if you were certain that he really
 possessed the ratification, and you considered these means necessary,
 in order to compel him to give it up to you. There is scarcely any
 room for doubt that, if he goes to Turin, he will see the Duchess of
 Savoy and will keep out of your way. You will not appear to take any
 notice of it, and you will not let this princess know that you are
 informed of this matter, although it is she herself who has given
 information concerning it to his Majesty.”

The same day[513] the Abbé d’Estrades urges upon the Government of
Versailles the necessity of granting the authorisation to kidnap
Matthioly.

 “... I believe that what I have already had the honour of stating
 to the King proves Mattioli’s perfidy sufficiently clearly; he has
 been here for the last four days, and has come to see me with great
 precautions, as if he had much interest in concealing himself;
 nevertheless, every morning he has had conferences with a person named
 Tarin, who is the man that Madame R.[514] sent to Padua to ascertain
 what it was he had to communicate to her; he has insinuated a thousand
 falsehoods in his conversations with him; he has wished to have it
 believed that he saw me every day, although I have only spoken to
 him once; and that the Duke of Mantua had sent him here in order to
 declare to me that this Prince could not keep his word to his Majesty
 on the subject of the Casale treaty. Whilst I have been writing
 this despatch, Mattioli has again come to see me, and the manner in
 which he has spoken to me has so clearly shown me his bad faith,
 that, even if I could possibly have had any doubt concerning it, he
 would have left me in no uncertainty; he has proposed to me some
 ridiculous schemes which would tend only to involve his Majesty in
 fresh embarrassments; he has told me that he leaves to-morrow in order
 to have an interview with the governor of Casale, who was pressing
 him strongly to visit him, and who hoped that the place would soon be
 in the hands of the King; as he has assured me that he would return
 during the present week at the latest, and, as I know that a few days
 afterwards he is to go back to Venice, I have not time to await his
 Majesty’s orders to arrest him. It is, nevertheless, so important
 to do this, that there remains to me only to think of the means of
 executing the design without scandal, with the view that the rumours
 which would ensue should not revive those which have been caused by
 the affair which he was negotiating, and of its not being known what
 had become of him. I have thought that it was impossible for me to
 succeed in this, except by entrusting Madame Royale with the secret,
 since I could not make certain of the person of Mattioli in Turin or
 in the States of the Duke of Savoy, without resorting to a violence at
 which she would show herself offended, and by whatever pretext I might
 have wished to attract him towards Pignerol, this Princess, whom he
 informs of all that passes between himself and me, would have warned
 him, no doubt, to take care of himself; I have seen myself compelled
 to act thus, from what she said to me two days ago, that since
 Mattioli was here, he might dwell at Pignerol or take a stroll in
 France for longer than he imagined, I replied she was so enlightened
 that I thought I ought not to neglect the idea which she gave me;
 that I would reflect upon it, and that, meanwhile, I begged of her in
 the name of the King not to mention anything which could imperil the
 effect of the resolution which I might take for his Majesty’s service,
 but that I would not execute it without communicating with her. She
 promised me this, and, after having thanked me for having been so
 willing to act in concert with her, she charged me to behave in such a
 way that Mattioli should not be arrested on her territories, so that
 she might not have to reproach herself with having delivered up a man
 who, although guilty of a treason, had, nevertheless, confided in her.
 I was this morning with Madame Royale, and, after having represented
 to her that it was of extreme consequence that Mattioli should be put
 in a place where he could no longer pay his court to the Spaniards
 and Venetians by means of the false confidences which I knew him to
 be making to them every day, I have assured her that I would arrange
 my plans in such a way that he would be taken to Pignerol without
 his having any suspicion of it till he was out of the States of her
 Royal Highness, and on the point of entering the place; she has shown
 herself satisfied with my assurance, and she has said to me that I
 could plainly see that she was contributing as much as possible to
 what would be of service to the King, since she had not dissuaded
 Mattioli from the visit which he had made here, and of which he had
 advised her, although she had never had the smallest doubt of what
 would befall him through it.

 “Besides the reasons, Sir, which I have already explained to you, I
 have since had some news tending to determine me to seize Mattioli;
 first, I know that he has been unwilling to give up to the Duke of
 Mantua the originals of the papers relating to the treaty, no matter
 what pressure this Prince, who has only copies of them, may have put
 upon him, and that he retains them in order to show them to those from
 whom he wishes to extract money, and who would not believe him upon
 slighter proofs. Juliani [Giuliani] has written to me that D. Joseph
 Varano, who stands very well with M. de Mantua, and who has always
 manifested his desire that his master should place himself under
 the King’s protection by means of the treaty of Casale, and to whom
 my letter will be delivered, and not to Vialardi, as I had informed
 you--having in writing used one name for the other--was to have an
 interview with him about this affair, and that he will assuredly not
 enter into any engagement whilst Mattioli is at liberty. Lastly, I
 have received information from Milan that the Duke of Mantua has
 asked the Spaniards for six hundred thousand crowns,[515] declaring
 to them that not being able to fortify Casale without it, he would
 not answer for the safe custody of this place, and that the Count
 de Melgar, who was willing to give them to him, was making useless
 efforts to raise them, and that he will not obtain them; so that it
 is probable that this Prince, who is only looking out for money, on
 losing the hope of getting it from Spain, will listen to the offers
 made him on behalf of the King, and that his Majesty will find himself
 in possession of an important place, which will always remain in
 his hands, through the death of the Duke of Mantua, whose health is
 so ruined by his debauches, by the incurable diseases produced by
 them, and by the poison which it is publicly stated was given him a
 little while since--that according to all appearances he cannot have
 long to live. One may add that if this Prince should happen to die
 before the execution of the treaty, his Majesty would have the right
 of doing himself justice by producing M. de Mantua’s letter, and the
 full powers which sufficiently authorise the articles which have been
 agreed on, but it is necessary for this purpose to get them out of
 Mattioli’s hands, which cannot be done if we do not make ourselves
 masters of his person, since he never carries them about with him.

 “Such, Sir, are the motives which oblige me not to allow him to
 escape, and in order to succeed in the affair, I have written to M.
 de Catinat that it is necessary that we should see one another at the
 beginning of the present week; I shall inform him at length of the
 state in which matters are, and shall tell him to select me a place
 near to Pignerol, whither I can proceed with Mattioli on a given
 day, when he shall have returned from the visit which he has paid to
 Casale, and to send there secretly a few men well armed, because I
 know that he always carries two pistols in his pockets with two others
 and a poignard in his belt; I shall conduct him to this place in my
 carriage under the pretext of having a conference with M. Catinat,
 and I have already so well inclined him to it that he has testified
 to me his desire for it; as I have spoken to him in such a way as
 to remove all kind of suspicion, and as he affects to fear lest the
 intercourse which we have with one another here should be discovered,
 he has of himself entered into all the precautions that I have wished
 to take, and we have agreed, in order to avoid the accidents which
 might happen, that we will only meet M. Catinat [at a spot] both out
 of sight of Pignerol and of the States of the Duke of Savoy; it is
 there also that I hope to place him in good hands, and I have no doubt
 but that M. de Saint-Mars will be very willing to receive him on M.
 Catinat’s report and my word, at least until it shall have pleased his
 Majesty to order otherwise.

        *       *       *       *       *

                                                            “I am, etc.

                                                   “L’ABBÉ D’ESTRADES.”

On April 29[516] D’Estrades returns to the charge, and adduces the
strong reasons which he considers ought to determine Matthioly’s
arrest:--

 “Juliany (Giuliani) has told me that he has spoken to Don Joseph
 Varano, who has promised him to do his utmost to renew the affair of
 Casale, but that at present M. de Mantua did not wish to hear anything
 spoken of except capturing or killing Mattioli, who, he complains,
 has betrayed him. He has learnt from this same Varano that what most
 disquieted M. de Mantua was, that Mattioli had made him ratify the
 treaty, and that he had kept possession of the ratification with all
 the other papers concerning this affair; so that when we are masters
 of Mattioli’s person, we will compel him to give up this ratification
 together with the rest. And so, Sir, you see of what consequence it
 is to arrest him. I no longer hesitate, moreover, about doing it,
 especially since I have seen that M. Catinat, with whom I had an
 interview two days ago, and with whom I have taken all the necessary
 measures, considered, after what I had told him concerning everything,
 that the execution of this resolution ought not to be delayed. I hope
 that in four or five days’ time it will be a settled affair, and I
 shall inform you of the manner in which it has been accomplished. It
 seems to me that when one has obliged Mattioli to deliver up among the
 other papers the ratification of M. de Mantua, if he has indeed given
 it to this man, the King will have the right to demand the execution
 of the ratified treaty, in the event of this Prince not wishing to
 take the ways of agreeableness and negotiations.”

At length, on April 28, Louis consents to the arrest.[517] But when his
orders arrive at Turin, Matthioly had already been carried off since
May 2.

 “I must inform you,” wrote D’Estrades to Pomponne, “in what manner
 I have brought Mattioli into a secure place. I have already had the
 honour to acquaint you that I had been studious to exhibit towards
 him entire confidence, and to cause him to entertain the desire of
 having an interview with M. Catinat; Giuliani, who arrived here
 three or four days ago, and whose fidelity to speak truly deserves
 to be taken into consideration, furnished me with a new means which
 was very useful. He told me that Mattioli had informed him that the
 expenses of numerous journeys, and the presents which he had been
 obliged to give to M. de Mantua’s mistresses in order to render them
 favourable, had exhausted his resources, and that he was at present
 without money; Giuliani did not hesitate to promise that I would let
 him have what he might require, and on this intelligence I told him
 [Matthioly] in confidence that we had only to seek expedients to renew
 our affair; and that provided the Duke of Mantua still had the same
 sentiments, it would not be difficult for us to promptly execute the
 treaty, since M. Catinat not only possessed the power to cause the
 troops destined for that purpose to arrive and to command them, but
 that he also had a very considerable sum to meet all the expenses
 that he might consider necessary, that Giuliani had represented to
 me the state in which he was, and that I would cause to be given
 to him whatever he might desire. I added that there was no need to
 have any false delicacy about it; that it was neither my money nor
 M. Catinat’s which I was offering him, but his Majesty’s, who did
 not believe that he could employ it better than for so important an
 affair. As he is one of the greatest rogues who have ever lived, this
 proposition made him extremely impatient to see M. Catinat; and he
 pressed me with reasons which he at once concocted not to delay the
 conference that we were to have with him; we made an appointment for
 the following day, Tuesday, the 2nd of the present month; and I gave
 him a rendezvous half a mile from Turin in a church, whither I was to
 proceed and take him up in my carriage at six o’clock in the morning;
 unfortunately there had been three days of very bad weather; it was
 still raining heavily on that day, and as the streams of this country
 easily become swollen, we found one called the Guisiola, three miles
 from the place to which we had to go, the waters of which were so
 high that the horses could only cross it by swimming; there was only
 a single bridge, which was half destroyed, and I was in despair at
 this hindrance. When after having perceived that it was absolutely
 necessary to repair the bridge with planks in order to be able to
 cross on foot, Mattioli worked at it with so much zeal, that in an
 hour we put it into a state to make use of it.

 “I profited by this opportunity to leave my carriage and servants at
 this spot, with the view that what I was about to do should be more
 secret, and we proceeded on foot along very bad roads to the place
 where we were expected. M. Catinat had so well arranged everything
 that no one but himself appeared; he made us enter a room, and
 during the conversation I insensibly made Mattioli state what he had
 avowed to me two days previously, that he possessed all the original
 papers that concerned our affair, viz.: M. de Mantua’s letter to the
 King, his Majesty’s answer to him, the full powers of this Prince,
 the treaty which you had put into writing, the Marquis de Louvois’
 memorandum, and two signatures of M. de Mantua; one at the bottom
 of the treaty so as to serve for the ratification, and the other at
 the bottom of a sheet of blank paper, on which to write an order
 to the governor of Casale to receive his Majesty’s troops into his
 town whenever they might present themselves there; he added that this
 Prince had since done all that he could to oblige him to return these
 papers, but that he had never been willing to go and find them, that
 he had only sent him copies, and had deposited the originals with his
 wife in a convent of nuns at Bologna, called Saint-Louis; after having
 invited this confidence towards M. Catinat, I considered that my
 presence was no longer necessary, and when I had left he was arrested
 without disturbance.

 “I returned here with the Abbé de Montesquieu, my cousin-german whom
 I had taken with me for two reasons, which I trust his Majesty will
 approve. The first because I could not leave Turin alone without its
 being believed that I was not going to pay a visit as I had stated
 two days previously, and because I had already experienced that I had
 been watched during two or three drives I had expressly taken outside
 the town, with the view that people should not find it extraordinary
 when I wished to carry off Mattioli. The second and the strongest was,
 that all the precautions I had adopted in order to see M. Catinat
 at the Capucins, whose convent is outside this town, on a mountain
 where there is no other house but theirs, not having prevented our
 interview from being known, and the Marquis de Saint-Maurice from
 speaking of it rather indiscreetly, I thought that I ought not to risk
 fresh conferences with him, and that it would be still more dangerous
 if I went to Pignerol; which the Abbé de Montesquieu can do without
 attracting attention. Nevertheless I should not have made use of the
 latter, if during a stay of three years that we have made together at
 Venice, I had not become acquainted with his discretion, his address,
 and especially his fidelity, sufficiently well to be able to answer
 for him as for myself; it is this therefore which has obliged me to
 make him come here. And I have sent him this morning to Pignerol in
 consequence of the information which M. Catinat has given me, that
 he had twice interrogated Mattioli,[518] who had proposed to get his
 father to come to the place where he had been arrested, so that he
 might oblige him to go and seek the papers which we demand and bring
 them to Pignerol. But since it is necessary to distrust everything
 that he says, and as he will doubtless not be able to sustain the
 sight of Giuliani when he is confronted with him, in consequence of
 all the knavery he has been guilty of, I have wished that he should
 accompany the Abbé de Montesquieu to Pignerol, so as to proceed from
 that place by M. Catinat’s orders wherever Mattioli might declare
 the papers to be concealed. And thus that he who should be charged
 with this commission might not only be a safe man, but also have a
 complete acquaintance with the country and know the language, so as to
 avoid any kind of accident.

 “Two days after Mattioli had been taken to the donjon of Pignerol, I
 caused his valet to be conducted thither with all his clothing and
 valises by means of one of my servants whom I had already lent to M.
 Catinat during the journey which he made to Casale; for this I had
 taken the precaution to bear a letter from Mattioli which he had been
 made to write and in which he ordered this valet to come to him in
 a place where he was obliged to remain three or four days, and from
 which he was to depart without again passing through Turin; so that by
 this means one obtained all that Mattioli had brought here, without
 having recourse to violence. If I had made use of any other means, I
 should not have been able to obtain anything from him, since he would
 never have been willing of himself to give up to me papers which he
 has so much difficulty in resolving to surrender even while he is in
 a condition to fear the punishment of his perfidy; and if I had used
 towards him the least threat he would infallibly have left Turin the
 next day without its being possible to arrest him, except by causing a
 scandal which would have been very prejudicial.”

Among the papers seized on Matthioly’s person, there were none of those
which emanated from the Government of Versailles, such as the treaty
signed by Pomponne, the instructions given by Louvois, the letter from
Louis XIV. to the Duke of Mantua, and the latter’s ratification. It was
essential to obtain possession of these, so as to deprive the other
powers of the irrefutable testimony of the King of France’s attempt
and failure. Matthioly at first gave incorrect information respecting
the place where they were to be found. But having been threatened with
torture,[519] and then with death, the unfortunate Count finished by
avowing that the famous papers were at Padua in a place which his
father alone knew of. A letter was dictated to the prisoner, in which,
without even allowing his lot to be suspected, he begged his father
to give all the documents relating to the negotiation to the Sieur
Giuliani, the bearer of the letter.[520] Matthioly’s father, ignorant
that Giuliani was a spy, delivered everything to him, and the astute
messenger confided to M. de Pinchesne, the representative of the
King of France at Venice, the precious originals,[521] which were
immediately forwarded to Versailles under cover of the embassy.[522]

Louis XIV. was avenged. Arrived at the zenith of his power, arbiter of
the destinies of Europe, which was submissive and mute, audacious and
mighty enough to arbitrarily annex vast territories to France in time
of peace, having, as yet, broken through all obstacles and triumphed
over all resistance, this potentate had just been tricked by a petty
minister of a petty Italian court. That one of his projects, which
seemed likely to succeed the best--thanks to the weakness as much
as to the division or ignorance of his adversaries--that one of his
projects, on the execution of which so many important consequences
depended, and which he had long dreamed over and prepared with infinite
precaution and care, suddenly failed through the most unforeseen of
accidents--the disaffection of the principal agent of the matter. What
a natural subject of raillery for Europe was so great an enterprise
as this, resulting in an issue that was almost grotesque--the first
check experienced by the King of France, produced by so insignificant
a cause--such disproportion between the importance of the preparations
and their complete inutility--the fear of so grave a peril replaced
by the certainty of being delivered from it! Louis XIV. endeavoured
to save himself by destroying for ever the official proofs of his
attempt and failure, by causing the chief culprit to disappear, and by
recalling his troops in as secret a manner as he had assembled them at
Briançon. He renounced his enterprise with such promptitude, that in
some degree he seemed never to have commenced it. It was in vain that
D’Estrades, who was so interested in the success of the negotiation,
and caught at everything in order to prolong it, begged the Government
of Versailles to leave him completely at liberty in this respect.[523]
The Minister’s refusal was formal, and tinged both with pride and
bitterness. “It is not his Majesty’s intention,” writes Pomponne to
D’Estrades, August 4, 1679, “to follow the course you propose in this
affair, nor to commit so great an enterprise to the measures you might
be able to take. If he ever forms the design of pursuing it, _you may
be assured that those of which he may make use will not fail him_.
So you need not venture to attempt anything in this matter.”[524]
No doubt the Court of Savoy was fully aware of the intrigue, but
Louis XIV. was master at Turin. No doubt Matthioly’s voice had made
itself heard at Venice and Milan, but it was now stifled for ever; and
with the recollection of his warnings was to be mingled that of his
mysterious disappearance, and a salutary fear caused by the strangeness
of his fate. Moreover, however humiliated Louis XIV. may have been,
he still employed most haughty language towards Madrid. He exacted
and obtained from Spain the immediate release of Baron d’Asfeld, who
was a prisoner at Milan, and also a formal disavowal of the governor
who had ordered his arrest. For Louis XIV. it was then a check, but
a check in part repaired by the prompt abandonment of his projects,
and compensated for by the satisfaction of having rendered powerless
and carried off, as it were, from the world, of having extinguished
the only being who could bear witness to the first humiliation of a
great King. The report was spread abroad that Matthioly had died,
the victim of an accident encountered on a journey. Those who were
most entitled to doubt this appeared to believe in it. Charles IV.,
suspected, if not convicted, by the other princes of having wished to
sell one of the keys of Italy to Louis XIV., sought to forget in fresh
pleasures the shame of the enterprise. Matthioly’s family, silent and
overwhelmed, became dispersed. Did it believe in his death? No one
knows. On its genealogical tree the date of Ercole Matthioly’s end
has been left blank.[525] His wife, the widow of a husband who was to
survive her, shut herself up with her sorrow in the convent of the
Filles de Saint-Louis at Bologna, the same place whither, seventeen
years previously, Matthioly had come to espouse her.[526] His father,
who received no further intelligence after the letter brought by
Giuliani, dragged on his unhappy existence for some time yet at Padua,
ignorant whether he ought to lament the death of a beloved son, or to
flatter himself that he was still alive. Among the members of this
family, thus plunged in the most cruel uncertainty, no one dared
to use any exertions, which, however, would have been useless, in
order to endeavour to clear it up. Feeling themselves menaced by the
mysterious blow which had fallen upon one of them, they were silent
and submissive, assured of their want of power, and certain that their
inquiries would be useless, and possibly not unattended with peril.


FOOTNOTES:

[497] Matthioly first addressed himself to President Truccki,
ex-Minister of Finance to the Regent, then to the latter.

[498] Archives of the Ministry of War, 686; Archives of the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs, section Mantua, 4; Instructions given to M. de Gomont,
ambassador to the Duke of Mantua.

[499] Letter from M. de Gomont to Louis XIV., May 14, 1680; copy of
Letter from Matthioly to the Empress Eleonora of Austria:--Archives of
the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Mantua, 5 and 11.

[500] The following is the only document which establishes the fact
that Matthioly received payment from the Spaniards and Venetians. It
will be remarked that the information given by D’Estrades reached him
very indirectly:--

“I must not omit to inform your Majesty that Father Ranzoni (a spy)
_has told_ Juliani (a spy) that _his father had assured_ him that the
Spaniards had given 4,000 pistoles [1,600_l._] to Mattioli[C] as a
reward for having discovered to them the whole of the Casale business,
and for having pointed out M. d’Asfeld to them, and that he had also
received money from the Venetians for the same reason.”--Unpublished
despatch from the Abbé d’Estrades to Louis XIV., March 16,
1680:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Savoy, 70.

 [C] The variation in the spelling of this name in the different
 despatches is followed exactly.--_Trans._

[501] _Mémoire de Chamlay_ on the events of 1678 to 1688:--Archives of
the Ministry of War, 1183.

[502] I am not sure whether I am correct in imagining that this was the
Marshal d’Asfeld, who distinguished himself at the battle of Almanza,
and died at a great old age in 1743.--(G. Agar Ellis.)

[503] Letter from Pomponne to Pinchesne, December 30, 1678:--Archives
of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

[504] Nicholas de Catinat, Marshal of France in 1698. “He united,”
says Voltaire, “philosophy to great military talents. The last
day he commanded in Italy, he gave for the watchword, ‘Paris and
Saint-Gratien,’ the name of his country-house. He died there in
the retirement of a real sage (having refused the blue ribbon), in
1712.”--(G. Agar Ellis.)

[505] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, December 29, 1678:--Archives
of the Ministry of War.

[506] _Ibid._, February 15, 1679:--Archives of the Ministry of War.

[507] Letter from M. de Pinchesne to M. de Pomponne, February 18,
1679:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Venice.

[508] Letter from M. de Pinchesne to M. de Pomponne, March 11,
1679:--Archives of Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Venice.

[509] Letter from M. de Pomponne to Matthioly, March 14, 1669.

[510] Letter from Catinat, under the name of Richemont, to Louvois,
April 15, 1679.

[511] Unpublished despatch:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs, section Savoy, 68.

[512] Unpublished despatch:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs, section Savoy, 68.

[513] Unpublished despatch:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs, section Savoy, 68.

[514] Royale, the Duchess of Savoy.--_Trans._

[515] 75,000_l._--_Trans._

[516] Unpublished despatch:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs, section Savoy, 68.

[517] Unpublished despatches from Pomponne to D’Estrades, April 28 and
30, 1679.

[518] Matthioly underwent three examinations, in the course of which
he excused himself for having confided the secret of the treaty to
the Court of Turin on the plea that he had been surprised into doing
so by the President Truccki, whom he described as an “insinuating and
adroit man” professing much “affection for the interests of France.” He
admitted having received 2,000 livres from the court, and maintained
that this was for services formerly rendered. He did not deny having
spoken of the treaty to certain Venetians and to a partisan of Spain at
Padua, but said he simply told them that the affair had failed; while
as regarded the representative of Austria at Venice, he saw that he
knew all about the treaty from the Duke of Mantua at Venice. In short,
Matthioly pretended generally that the reason the ratification had been
delayed, was on account of the unwillingness of the Duke, acted upon by
his mother and the Court of Vienna, to complete the affair:--Letters
from Catinat to Louvois, quoted by M. Roux-Fazillac.--_Trans._

[519] “I put him into the greatest possible fear of the torture if he
did not speak the truth:”--Letter from Catinat to Louvois, Archives of
the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.--_Trans._

[520] Matthioly really wrote this letter, as will be seen by the
annexed extract from a letter sent by Catinat to Louvois, and dated
May 10, 1679: “I have made him write three letters for the purpose of
getting possession of the original papers which are at Padua, which
have been put into the hands of the Sieur Giuliani, by the advice of
the Abbé d’Estrades, who places an entire confidence in him; he will
make use of these three letters as he shall judge most fit, according
to the disposition in which he shall find the father of the Sieur de
Lestang. The first is only a letter of the Sieur de Lestang to his
father, in which he acquaints him, that there are reasons which oblige
him to remain at Turin, or in the neighbourhood, but that he may place
an entire confidence in the Sieur Giuliani, and deliver to him such
and such papers, of which I have made him give the inventory to the
Sieur Giuliani. The second acquaints his father with the real state in
which he is, and that it is important, as well for his life as for his
honour, that his papers should be immediately delivered into the hands
of the Sieur Giuliani. In the third, which is the last to be made use
of, in case the first two have no effect, he desires him to come to
Turin, and tells him that at the house of the Abbé d’Estrades he will
be instructed where he is, and the means to be employed to speak with
him. The Sieur de Lestang has no doubt of being able, in this interview
between him and his father, to persuade the latter to all he may wish.
I have inspired him with so great a fear of the punishments due to his
bad conduct, that I find no repugnance in him to do all that I require
of him:”--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.--_Trans._

[521] The ratification of the Duke of Mantua was not among them, but
only several signatures in blank given by this Prince to Matthioly,
on one of which the latter asserted that he was to have written the
ratification.

[These sheets signed in blank were never found. The papers recovered
by Giuliani comprised, in addition to the original treaty signed by
Matthioly and M. de Pomponne, the instructions given to the former
when he left the French Court, Louvois’ written authority for Pomponne
to treat with Matthioly, and a letter from Louis XIV. to the Duke of
Mantua. “The ratification of the Duke of Mantua is not to be found,
although the Sieur de Lestang said it was amongst them; whereupon I
interrogated him, having first obtained all the advantage over him
I could, by abusing him and bringing soldiers into his room as if
preparatory to administering the question[D] to him, which made him so
much afraid that he promised to really tell the truth. Being asked
whether the Duke of Mantua had ratified the treaty, he answered that
he had never subscribed to all the articles, but that he had got from
him four blank papers signed, one of which was a blank paper, of two
sheets, at the top of which he had written, ‘Ratification of the
treaty made with his Most Christian Majesty.’ That there were three
other blank papers signed, of one sheet each, of which he intended to
make use to write in the name of his master to the three governors of
the town, citadel, and castle, to order them to receive the King’s
troops. Being asked where these papers signed in blank are at present,
he answered, that they are in the hands of the Governor of Casale, to
whom he sent them at the time that D’Asfeld left Venice. Being asked
why he had sent them, without their being filled up, to the Governor
of Casale, he answered he had sent them to him in a letter of Magnus,
the Secretary of the Duke of Mantua, in which the Governor was ordered
to do, without hesitation, all that should be told him regarding the
execution of the orders contained in that packet,--that they were left
blank, because he wished to make the ratification according to that of
the King, not knowing, as he says, the exact form in which it ought
to have been made out. Being asked why in his first examination he
had said that this ratification was at Padua; he answered that he had
not wished to tell where it was before Giuliani, in order not to make
him acquainted in any way with his intelligence with the governor:
he added that he had never had any other ratification except that
one; and that whatever tortures might be inflicted on him, he could
never tell anything more.”--Letter from Catinat to Louvois, June 3,
1679:--Archives of the Ministry of War.--_Trans._]

 [D] The first form of torture applied to prisoners to force them to
 confess.

[522] Unpublished despatches from the Abbé d’Estrades to Pomponne,
May 13 and 27, and June 3, 1679:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs, section Savoy, 68. Letter from Catinat to Louvois, June 3,
1679:--Archives of the Ministry of War.

[523] Unpublished letters from D’Estrades to Pomponne, June 10 and July
1, 1679.

[524] Unpublished despatch, August 4, 1679:--Archives of the Ministry
of Foreign Affairs, section Savoy. The project for the surrender of
Casale was revived two years later and put into execution, thanks
to the skill of the Abbé Morel, Minister of Louis XIV. to the Duke
of Mantua, and without the intervention of the Abbé d’Estrades. On
September 30, 1681, Louis XIV.’s troops entered Casale. We know what
this policy led to, and how, at the peace of Ryswick, he was compelled
to surrender everything, even Pignerol, his father’s valuable conquest.
However, Louis XIV. was well advised to break off the negotiation
in 1679, since Marshal d’Estrades acquainted him, on March 11, from
Nimeguen, “that this new attempt was of a nature to defer the exchange
of the ratifications of the treaty of general peace:”--Unpublished
letter of the Marshal d’Estrades, Imperial Library, Manuscripts,
_Papiers du Maréchal d’Estrades_, vol. xii. p. 1015

[525] _Arbor priscæ nobilisque masculinæ familiæ de
Matthiolis_:--Archives of the Empire, M. 746.

[526] Matthioly married in January, 1661, Camilla, widow of Bernardi
Paleotti, by whom he had two sons.--_Trans._




                             CHAPTER XXI.

 Period from which the Theory that makes Matthioly the Man with the
 Iron Mask dates--Numerous Writers who have concerned themselves with
 the Abduction of this Individual--Arguments of Reth, Roux-Fazillac,
 and Delort--M. Jules Loiseleur--His Labours--The Supposition that
 an obscure Spy was arrested in 1681 by Catinat--It cannot be
 admitted--Grounds on which M. Loiseleur rejects the Theory that makes
 Matthioly the Man with the Iron Mask--Soundness of his Reasoning and
 Justness of his Conclusions.


Prisoners have no history; their monotonous and uniform existence
cannot be described, their lamentations remain without response, their
sufferings have no other witnesses but their gaolers, their confidence
is received by nobody. Poets alone imagine and sing the bitter sorrows
of captivity.

The story of Matthioly’s imprisonment derives all its interest from
the supposition that he may possibly be the Man with the Iron Mask.
Of the life of the captive in his prison, we have nothing or almost
nothing.[527] Louis XIV. has succeeded in surrounding with uncertainty
and mystery the punishment of the audacious man who had deceived him.
A single attempt, if not to corrupt, at least to interest in his lot
one of his gaolers, the Sieur de Blainvilliers;[528] by turns the calm
of the prisoner resigned to the definitive loss of his liberty, or
the momentary madness of the wretched being separated for ever from
all that is dear to him; a few efforts, renewed after long intervals,
to write and make known his name outside the walls within which he is
confined: this is all that we know, all that we shall ever know of
Matthioly’s captivity. But what prisons did he successively inhabit?
Where did he drag out his existence, and, above all things, where did
he terminate it? Ought we to behold in him the Man with the Iron Mask?

Roux-Fazillac and Delort are generally considered as having been the
first to reveal, the one in 1800, and the other in a more complete
manner in 1825, the existence and abduction of Count Matthioly. This
is a grave error, and we must go back long before these two writers
in order to find the first traces and the first revelations of the
diplomatic intrigue relative to Casale. In 1682 there appeared at
Cologne a political pamphlet[529] in which the whole negotiation was
disclosed, and in which the Abbé d’Estrades and Matthioly, Giuliani
and Pinchesne, D’Asfeld, Catinat, and the Duke of Mantua figured. In
August, 1687, a work, published at Leyden with the title of _Histoire
Abrégée de l’Europe_,[530] gave, under the head of Mantua, a French
translation of an Italian letter which denounced the abduction of
Matthioly. In 1749 the famous Muratori related, in his _Annali
d’Italia_,[531] the story of the Casale negotiation, and the abduction
of the principal agent in this intrigue. In the part of the _Journal
Encyclopédique_[532] for August 15, 1770, was a letter from Baron
d’Heiss, ex-captain in the regiment of Alsace, in which the whole of
this affair was made known; and there is a copy of this letter in
the number of the _Journal de Paris_[533] for December 22, 1779. In
1786, the Italian Fantuzzi summarized in his _Notizie degli Scrittori
Bolognesi_,[534] the accounts already published on this subject. A
similar opinion that Matthioly was the Man with the Iron Mask, was, in
1789, supported by the Chevalier de B----, in a work with the title of
_Londres, Correspondance interceptée_.[535] On November 26, 1795, M. de
Chambrier, ex-Minister of Prussia to the Court of Turin, read, before
the Division of Belles-Lettres of the Academy of Berlin,[536] a memoir
in which “he endeavoured to establish, by tradition alone, that the
Iron Mask and Ercole Matthioly were one and the same person.” Lastly,
the 9 Pluviose, Year xi.,[537] the citizen Reth, the commissioner
charged with organizing the national lottery in the twenty-seventh
military division, addressed a long communication to the _Journal de
Paris_[538] tending towards the same conclusion.[539] Thus we see that
neither Roux-Fazillac, nor Delort, nor still less any writer of our
own days, can claim to be first to have put forward the theory that
Matthioly was the Man with the Iron Mask.

However, Delort had the incontestable advantage over his numerous
predecessors of furnishing a portion[540] of the official despatches
relating to the negotiation, and also of those which were exchanged
between Saint-Mars and the various Ministers after Matthioly’s
incarceration. Since then, and in our own days, M. Camille Rousset,
in his _Histoire de Louvois_, has in his turn disclosed the intrigue
concocted by D’Estrades, the Duke of Mantua, and Matthioly; and
contenting himself with merely giving his opinion on the Iron Mask,
in a short note,[541] has declared that he sees in him the faithless
Minister who betrayed Louis XIV. Depping, in his _Correspondance
Administrative sous Louis XIV._, also adopts this view. But they have
neither of them endeavoured--nor, indeed, did it belong to their
subject--to establish what I shall term the perfect agreement and exact
correspondence between the individual carried off from near Pignerol,
May 2, 1679, and the prisoner who was interred in the Church of Saint
Paul, November 20, 1703.

Here is the knot of the question. We have just seen, and this,
moreover, has been known since a long time, that Matthioly was carried
off in 1679 by a French ambassador and taken violently to Pignerol. But
it is no longer a question merely of this intrigue, which is simply
a preliminary portion of the problem with which we are occupied. It
is necessary to follow the Duke of Mantua’s Minister from prison to
prison, and to ascertain, not only if he may not have been, but also if
he could have been, any other than the mysterious prisoner conducted in
1698 by Saint-Mars from the Isles Sainte-Marguerite to the Bastille,
where he died in 1703. Delort believed he had proved it. His conviction
was profound, and to many persons his demonstration seemed irrefutable.
On what grounds, then, did it rest, and how has a judicious writer of
our own days entirely overthrown it?

On May 2 and 3, 1679, when Matthioly and his valet were incarcerated
at Pignerol, this State prison contained, besides Fouquet and Lauzun,
four prisoners, incontestably obscure and of very slight importance.
One, Eustache d’Auger, brought there August 20, 1669, had for some time
acted as Fouquet’s valet.[542] Another, arrived at Pignerol April 7,
1674, was a Jacobin monk; “a finished scoundrel,” wrote Louvois, “who
cannot be sufficiently maltreated or made to suffer the punishment
he has deserved.” The Minister recommended Saint-Mars “not to give
him a fire in his chamber except when great cold or illness obliged
it, and not to provide him with any other diet but bread, wine, and
water.”[543] Louvois afterwards enjoined Saint-Mars “not to let him
be seen by any one, nor to give news of him to any person whatever.”
But this order was in some sort a mere form, since a like injunction
had been given to Saint-Mars, July 19, 1669, at the time Eustache
d’Auger was sent to him.[544] The latter, as well as the Jacobin monk,
and Caluzio, brought there in September, 1673,[545] and Dubreuil,
imprisoned in June, 1676, were treated in exactly the same manner and
without any kind of consideration. The expense for each of them was
not to exceed twenty sous a day,[546] and they were so insignificant,
that when Saint-Mars was called from the command of the donjon of
Pignerol to the government of Exiles, Louvois requested from him “a
list of the persons in his charge, begging him to indicate, at the
side of each name, what he knew of the reasons for which they had been
arrested.”[547] It is certain, and this has never been a matter of
doubt to any of those who have occupied themselves with this problem,
that the Man with the Iron Mask is not to be sought for amongst these
obscure wretches, the causes of whose confinement the Minister himself
had forgotten. We have seen that Fouquet, undoubtedly, died at Pignerol
during the month of March, 1680; and, with regard to Lauzun, it is not
less incontestable that he left the citadel April 22, 1681.

From the moment of his arrest Matthioly received the fictitious name
of Lestang, as a despatch of Catinat’s clearly shows.[548] He was
sometimes designated by his right name, sometimes by this fictitious
one. A letter from Louvois, August 16, 1680, authorises Saint-Mars
“to place the Sieur de Lestang with the Jacobin, so as to avoid
any intercourse between two priests;” and Saint-Mars’ reply, dated
September 7, 1680, shows that Matthioly was confined with the Jacobin
monk in the lower tower. In this letter Saint-Mars informs the Minister
that Matthioly at first thought that he had been placed with a spy
charged to watch him and give an account of his conduct. But the monk,
a prisoner since several years, had become mad, of which Matthioly was
soon convinced “by seeing him one day get out of bed stark naked and
preach, as well as he could, without rhyme or reason.” The same letter
shows Saint-Mars to us just as we have always known him, and watching
through a hole over the door what his prisoners were doing.[549]

On May 12, 1681, Louvois, when announcing to Saint-Mars his nomination
to the governorship of Exiles, rendered vacant by the death of the Duke
de Lesdiguières, “orders him to take with him _the two prisoners of
the lower Tower_.” According to Roux-Fazillac, Delort, and all those
who have occupied themselves with this question, these two prisoners
are undoubtedly Matthioly and the Jacobin monk. On January 20, 1687,
Saint-Mars, whose health had been affected by the rigorous climate of
Exiles, was appointed to the governorship of the Isles Saint-Honorat
and Sainte-Marguerite in the sea of Provence. He took with him one
prisoner only. Reth and Delort do not hesitate to admit that, of the
two prisoners in question, he who was taken by Saint-Mars to the Isles
Sainte-Marguerite was Matthioly. Though unable to furnish a sure proof
of it, they have no doubt. Roux-Fazillac, more circumspect and less
positive, contents himself with remarking that either the Jacobin monk
or Matthioly was the Man with the Iron Mask; and it is by means of
general considerations, by proofs drawn from the mysterious manner in
which the abduction had been accomplished, from Louis XIV.’s evident
interest in concealing such a violation of international law, that
Roux-Fazillac endeavours to prove Matthioly’s identity with the Iron
Mask.

Thus, of the very numerous writers who have advanced this opinion,
some, such as Baron d’Heiss, M. de Chambrier, M. Depping, and
M. Camille Rousset, have done so by only taking account of the
circumstances accompanying the abduction, by invoking probabilities,
and by showing a preference. Others, such as Roux-Fazillac, Reth, and
Delort, have endeavoured to support their demonstrations with more
precise and less general proofs, not occupying themselves exclusively
with the arrest of this individual, but with the captive’s existence
and his changes of prison. They have, in a word, attempted to follow
him without losing sight of him for an instant, from the moment of his
incarceration to that of his death. How have they succeeded?

A very sagacious writer, M. Jules Loiseleur, has, for some years
past, applied the processes of a rigorous historical criticism and the
qualities of a penetrative mind to some of those secondary questions
which the historian often neglects or avoids, either because they
would retard the rapidity of his progress, or because their exact
solution would perhaps be contrary to the general theory upon which
the _ensemble_ of his task has been conceived. These species of minute
inquiries, pursued according to a judicial model, concentrate the
attention upon certain points, isolated from all others, and present,
with some inconveniences, some precious advantages. For, if by such
a process, we cease to take account of the necessary influence of
general facts, if the marvellous chain of causes and effects be a
little neglected, this method, in return, assures to him who employs it
entire liberty to study the question under all its phases, and above
all things frees him from any preconceived idea, from the necessity
of sacrificing himself to a theory, or of obeying too servilely the
conditions of art or the sovereign rules of proportion. It is thus
that M. Loiseleur has studied,[550] by introducing new documents into
the discussion, the question of the pretended poisoning of Gabrielle
d’Estrées and of the supposed marriage of Anne of Austria and Mazarin.

The problem of the Man with the Iron Mask has also attracted the
scrupulous attention and meditations of this trained mind. M. Loiseleur
has not brought forward any new documents in considering this question.
It is to those already published that he has directed his examination,
and to the theory that makes Matthioly the Man with the Iron Mask.[551]
The following is the first result of his observations.

In August, 1681, at the moment when Saint-Mars is about to leave
Pignerol for Exiles, of which he had just been named Governor, he
receives an order from Louvois to defer his departure. The affair of
Casale, abandoned, as we have seen after Matthioly’s arrest, had been
taken up again two years afterwards. The Abbé Morel, addressing himself
directly to the Duke of Mantua to whom he was accredited, had obtained
his consent, and the treaty of surrender, this time confided to sure
hands, was about to be definitively executed. As before, Boufflers
occupied the frontier with his troops. As before, Catinat is about to
penetrate to Pignerol, in order to proceed afterwards to Casale, and
take possession of the place. The following is the letter in which
Louvois announces to Saint-Mars the early arrival of Catinat:--

  “Fontainebleau, August 13, 1681.

 “The King having commanded M. de Catinat to proceed as soon as
 possible to Pignerol, on the same business that took him there at
 the commencement of the year 1679, I write you these lines by his
 Majesty’s order, to give you intelligence thereof, so that you may
 prepare him an apartment in which he may remain concealed during three
 weeks or a month; and also to tell you that when he shall send to let
 you know that he is arrived at the place where you went to meet him
 in the said year 1679, it is his Majesty’s intention that you should
 go there again to meet him and conduct him into the donjon of the
 citadel of the aforesaid Pignerol with all the precautions necessary
 to prevent any one’s knowing that he is with you. I do not charge you
 to assist him with your servants, your horses, and whatever carriages
 he may have occasion for, not doubting that you will do with pleasure
 on these heads, whatever he shall ask.”

According to M. Loiseleur the words,--“the same business that took him
there at the commencement of the year 1679,” signifies to Saint-Mars
the arrest of a political prisoner. “Since,” says M. Loiseleur, “of
all the occurrences of the negotiation undertaken in 1679, this was
the only one of which Saint-Mars was officially informed.”[552] This
interpretation is very important, because M. Loiseleur seems to
conclude from it that in 1681, as in 1679, Catinat was sent to Pignerol
to arrest a new individual, and confide him to the care of Saint-Mars.
We are unable to share this opinion. The words in question have
evidently only one meaning,--the taking possession of Casale. Catinat
was not sent to Pignerol to arrest Matthioly, since Louvois’ letter
announcing to Saint-Mars the first arrival of this officer, is dated
December 29, 1678, when there was not only no intention of carrying
off the Mantuan Minister, but when his good offices were continued
to be employed, without the suspicion of any treason, which, indeed,
did not as yet exist. Moreover, if Catinat remained three months at
Pignerol, during January, February and March, 1679, it was because
the execution of the treaty of Casale was continually hoped for,
and because multiplied and diverse efforts were made to obtain from
Matthioly the exchange of the ratifications. M. Loiseleur says, “There
was the greatest interest in surrounding Catinat’s mission and his
stay at Pignerol with the most profound mystery; it was necessary, in
truth, to deceive the vigilance of the Court of Turin, so near to the
scene of the events in preparation, and also of the Germans, Spaniards,
Venetians, and Genoese, who were not less unquiet.” No doubt; and this
is one of the reasons why Catinat took an assumed name. “How then,”
adds this writer, “is it to be explained that Louvois should have
confided the purpose of this mission to so subordinate an agent as the
Captain Saint-Mars?”

The conclusion is neither searching nor exact. Not only was Saint-Mars
really in the secret of the political mission entrusted to Catinat
in 1679, but, as we have seen, he also helped him to fulfil it, by
accompanying him to Increa, for the meeting appointed by Matthioly
to exchange the ratifications, by following him to Casale, and by
sharing his danger. Saint-Mars, moreover, far from being a subordinate
agent, possessed, and justly possessed, the entire confidence of Louis
XIV. and Louvois;[553] and despatches which will be quoted hereafter
show him to have been on the most friendly terms with D’Estrades and
Catinat.[554] The precautions adopted to conceal the stay of the
latter at Pignerol were designed to leave in ignorance the officers
of the citadel, the notabilities of the town, the governor himself,
the Marquis d’Herleville--every one, in fact, except Saint-Mars, whose
presence became so indispensable, that, for this reason alone, he
delayed his departure for Exiles. In fact, in a despatch addressed
to Louvois, April 15, 1679, Catinat complains that the Marquis
d’Herleville suspects his presence in the donjon, and at the same
time congratulates himself on the precautions which Saint-Mars adopts
with regard to him.[555] Moreover, we cannot too strongly insist
that the business which brought Catinat to Pignerol in 1679 was the
taking possession of Casale. This, for more than three months, was the
appointed object of his exertions. The abduction of Matthioly was only
a second commission, much less honourable, and much less worthy of
Catinat than the former. It was confided to him because he was on the
scene of events, and because its accomplishment required a man who was
resolute and sure in acting. But it was for him only an unexpected and
subordinate character, and formed but an incident, and a sad incident,
of his visit, which could not in any way affect the prime, essential,
and incontestable cause of his being there, viz., to take possession of
Casale.

M. Loiseleur insists the more upon this unfounded interpretation,
because it is almost the sole pretext,[556] I will not say for the
theory--he is too cautious to call it so--but for the supposition
that an obscure and unknown spy was arrested by Catinat in 1681, and
confided, like Matthioly, to Saint-Mars’ care. Nothing, indeed--and M.
Loiseleur does not deny this--absolutely nothing in the history of the
resumption of the negotiations relative to Casale allows us to admit
the truth of this hypothesis. While in 1679, there was uncertainty,
hesitation, and embarrassment produced by Matthioly’s equivocal
behaviour, in 1681 everything was simple, clear, and definitive. No
doubt the preparations were still concealed; but observe the rapidity
of execution and the startling revenge taken by Louis XIV.! On July 8,
1681, the treaty of surrender is signed at Mantua by the Duke himself
and the Ambassador of the King of France. On August 2 Catinat is
ordered from Flanders. On the 13th Louvois announces to Saint-Mars the
journey of this officer to Pignerol. From September 1 to 22 the French
troops muster at Briançon. On the 27th they  arrive at Pignerol. On
the 30th they enter Casale with the Marquis de Boufflers as commander
and Catinat as governor of this new possession.[557] This time there
was no intermediary between the negotiators, no obstacle to Louis
XIV.’s project; and no employment of an embarrassing or perfidious
spy. There is nothing that is suspicious, nothing that is obscure
in the despatches relating to this enterprise. There is no void in
them, nothing has been suppressed. Moreover--and this is a point upon
which we cannot too strongly insist--the King, the ministers, and the
ambassadors who penned them, could not foresee that they would one day
no longer be buried in the impenetrable archives of Versailles, but be
delivered to investigation and comment.

Where is there anything in them about that obscure spy whom Catinat
is said to have arrested? M. Loiseleur has wished rather to open a
new field for conjecture than to put forward a definite opinion. He
has comprehended so well the fragile nature of his train of reasoning
that he does not hesitate to express himself in the following manner
concerning this pretended prisoner of 1681:--“There is nothing to
explain to us his true name, his position in life, or his crime. The
only two theories which are now current concerning the Iron Mask
are both equally erroneous. This is all that we have intended to
establish.”[558]

Let us hasten to say that he has completely succeeded. There is no need
for us to return to that one of these two theories which makes the
Man with the Iron Mask a brother of Louis XIV.[559] But with reference
to the other, which represents Matthioly as being the masked prisoner,
M. Loiseleur’s refutation of it is very remarkable; and the researches
which we have made, as well as the new documents which we have brought
to light, confirm what his clear-sighted sagacity had enabled him to
discover. “December 23, 1685,” says M. Loiseleur, “Saint-Mars writes
from Exiles to Louvois, ‘My prisoners are always ill and taking
remedies. For the rest, they are very quiet.’ We possess no official
document relating to what passed at Exiles during the year 1686; but
it was in this year, as we are about to establish, that Matthioly’s
death took place. On January 20, 1687, Saint-Mars learns that the King
has just conferred on him the governorship of the Isles Honorat and
Sainte-Marguerite. He hastens to thank Louvois for it, and adds, ‘I
shall give my orders for the care of my prisoner so well,’ &c. &c.”

Thence M. Loiseleur concludes that either in 1686, or in January,
1687, one of the two prisoners had died.[560] He also adduces the
testimony of Father Papon, of the Oratory, who, visiting the Isles
Sainte-Marguerite, in 1778, questioned an officer there named Claude
Souchon, then seventy-nine years old, and whose father had formed one
of the free company of the islands in the time of Saint-Mars. Now, both
in a memorandum drawn up at the request of the Marquis de Castellane,
governor of the islands, and in his replies to Father Papon, the
Sieur Souchon said he had heard from his father that the envoy of the
Empire--the Duke of Mantua was a prince of the Empire--carried off by
order of Louis XIV., died nine years after his arrest--that is to say,
in 1688.[561] Muratori relates this tradition, and it is also confirmed
by the fact “that the name of Matthioly disappeared entirely from
Saint-Mars’ correspondence previous to his departure from Exiles.”

The following despatches from Louvois to Saint-Mars, till now
unpublished, justify M. Loiseleur’s suppositions:--

  “Fontainebleau. October 9, 1686.

 “I have received the letter that you have written to me the 26th of
 last month, which requires no answer except to say that you should
 have named to me which of your prisoners it is that has become
 dropsical.”

  “Fontainebleau, November 3, 1686.

 “I have received your letter of the 4th of last month. It is right
 to cause that one of your two prisoners who has become dropsical to
 confess, when you perceive the appearance of an approaching death.
 Till then neither he nor his companion must have any communication.”

  “Versailles, January 13, 1687.

 “I have received your letter of the 5th of this month, by which I
 learn the death of one of your prisoners. I do not reply to you
 concerning your desire to change your government, because you have
 since learnt that the King has granted you one more important[562]
 than yours, with a good climate, at which I am delighted, and I
 rejoice again with you at the share which I have taken in what
 concerns you.”[563]

Thus we see that the death of one of the two prisoners brought by
Saint-Mars from Pignerol to Exiles is undeniable. Supposing that
we reject the testimony of the Sieur Souchon--which, although not
possessing the character of an official document, does not the
less deserve the most serious attention--supposing that we are
not absolutely convinced that the prisoner who died of dropsy was
Matthioly, it is, nevertheless, necessary to admit that the fact of
this death places in the greatest uncertainty and almost entirely
destroys the value of the theory put forward by Baron d’Heiss, De
Chambrier, Reth, Roux-Fazillac, Delort, Depping, and Rousset. How,
in fact, can one now insist that Matthioly was the Man with the Iron
Mask, who mysteriously entered the Bastille September 18, 1698, when we
see that he was confided to the care of Saint-Mars along with another
prisoner; that one of the two captives died in 1687; and that from this
time the name of the Mantuan Minister altogether disappears from the
correspondence of Louvois and Saint-Mars? After having attentively read
M. Loiseleur’s work, and especially after having found the despatches
confirming the essential portions of it, I by no means arrived at the
conclusion that Catinat in 1681 abducted some spy, the fact of whose
arrest or even existence is altogether devoid of proof; but I acquired
the conviction that this problem would never receive a definitive
solution, and that it was impossible to disperse the mysterious gloom
with which the Man with the Iron Mask was surrounded.

Such was my confirmed opinion when, studying more attentively one of
the despatches which I had been permitted to examine, a new direction
was impressed on my researches, and led me to a result which I am about
to unfold.


FOOTNOTES:

[527] Louvois writes to Saint-Mars, May 15, 1679: “It is not the
intention of the King that the Sieur de Lestang [the name given to
Matthioly after his arrest] should be well treated, nor that, except
the absolute necessaries of life, anything should be given to him
that would enable him to pass his time agreeably.” Again, on May 22,
he writes: “You must keep the individual named Lestang in the severe
confinement I enjoined in my preceding letters, without allowing him
to see a physician unless you know him to be in absolute need of one.”
In July he is allowed pen and ink “to put into writing whatever he may
wish to say.” In February, 1680, Saint-Mars writes to Louvois that
Lestang “complains that he is not treated as a man of his quality and
the minister of a great prince ought to be,” to which Louvois replies
in the July following: “With regard to the Sieur de Lestang, I wonder
at your patience, and that you should wait for an order to treat such a
rascal as he deserves when he is wanting in respect to you:”--Louvois
to Saint-Mars and _vice versâ_, Archives of the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs.--_Trans._

[528] “Sir,” said he to him, “here is a ring which I make a present to
you, and which I beg of you to accept.” It was no doubt the diamond
given to Matthioly by Louis XIV.

[Saint-Mars wrote to Louvois: “I believe he made him this present
as much from fear as from any other cause: this prisoner having
previously used very violent language towards him, and written abusive
sentences with charcoal on the walls of his room, which had obliged
that officer to threaten him with severe punishment, if he was not
more decorous and moderate in his language for the future. When he was
put in the tower with the Jacobin, I charged Blainvilliers to tell
him, at the same time showing him a cudgel, that it was with that
the unruly were rendered manageable, and that if he did not speedily
become so, he could easily be compelled. This message was conveyed to
him, and some days afterwards, as Blainvilliers was waiting upon him
at dinner, he said, ‘Sir, here is a little ring which I wish to give
you, and I beg you to accept of it?’ Blainvilliers replied ‘that he
only took it to deliver it to me, as he could not receive anything
himself from the prisoners.’ I think it is well worth fifty or sixty
pistoles:”--Letter from Saint-Mars to Louvois, October 26, 1680, quoted
by Roux-Fazillac.--_Trans._]

[529] _La Prudenza Triomfante di Casale con l’Arni sole de trattati e
negotiati di Politici della M. Chr._, small duodecimo, 58 pp.

[530] This was printed at Leyden by Claude Jordan.

[531] _Annali d’Italia_, Milan edition, vol. xi. pp. 352-354.

[532] Vol. vi. part i. p. 182., Letter from Baron d’Heiss, June 28,
1770.

[533] _Journal de Paris_, p. 1470.

[534] Vol. v. p. 369.

[535] This is a collection of letters interchanged between the Marquis
de L. and the Chevalier de B., in which the latter gives an account of
his travels in France, Italy, Germany, and England, from September 5,
1782, to January 29, 1788. In it, Matthioly is confounded with another
agent named Girolamo Magni.

[536] _Mémoires de l’Académie de Berlin_, 1794 and 1795, Division of
Belles-Lettres, pp. 157-163.

[537] January 31, 1800.--_Trans._

[538] Pp. 814-816.

[539] In this list I do not include the Hon. George Agar Ellis, whose
work was translated into French and published by Barbeza, (Paris,
1830), because his book is itself only the almost literal reproduction
of Delort’s.

[540] We have already seen that Delort had examined, in the Archives
of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, only a portion of the sections
Venice and Mantua, and that of Savoy not at all. As to the despatches
interchanged between the Minister of War and Saint-Mars, he had
inspected the rather numerous letters in the Archives of the Empire,
but not the drafts which are at the Ministry of War.

[541] “We share the opinion of those who think that the Man with the
Iron Mask was no other than Matthioly:”--_Histoire de Louvois_, vol.
iii. p. 111, _note_.

[542] Despatch from Louvois to Saint-Mars, January 30, 1675.

[543] Unpublished despatch from Louvois to Saint-Mars, April 18,
1674:--Archives of the Ministry of War.

[544] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, July 19, 1669. We have
already mentioned that the same precautions were adopted (_ante_, p.
234) even for the Protestant ministers who were confined at the Isles
Sainte-Marguerite later. See Depping: _Correspondance Administrative
sous Louis XIV._

[545] Buticary was set at liberty at Saint-Mars’ request. The following
extract from a despatch proves that he ought not to be confounded
with Caluzio, as M. Loiseleur has done: “In the correspondence of
Saint-Mars,” he says (_Revue Contemporaine_, July 31, 1867, p. 202,
note), “Caluzio is sometimes called Buticary. One of the two names is a
surname.” Now, September 14, 1675, Louvois writes to Saint-Mars: “You
have done right to give a sergeant and two soldiers to take the Sieur
Caluzio to Lyons, and as to the Sieur Buticary, when the King is at
Saint-Germain, I will willingly speak in his favour and endeavour to
obtain his release.”

[546] Delort, _Histoire de la Détention des Philosophes_, vol. i. and
Roux-Fazillac.

[547] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, May 12, 1680.

[548] Letter from Catinat to Louvois, May 3, 1679.

[549] Letter from Louvois, August 16, 1680, and from Saint-Mars,
September 7 of the same year.

[550] _Problèmes Historiques_, Paris. Hachette.

[551] _Revue Contemporaine_, July 21, 1867, pp. 194-239.

[552] _Revue Contemporaine_, p. 206.

[553] François Michel le Tellier, Marquis de Louvois, whose name occurs
so frequently throughout this work, was Louis XIV.’s Secretary of
State for War and Prime Minister. He is responsible for the barbarous
devastation of the Palatinate, and for the revocation of the Edict of
Nantes. After having served his Sovereign faithfully for six-and-thirty
years, he fell under his displeasure, and was only saved from disgrace
by a sudden death, which occurred in 1691, it is said from poison.

[554] M. Loiseleur afterwards brings forward two arguments which
are as little conclusive as those which have just been discussed.
“Saint-Mars was so persistently left in ignorance,” he says, “that
after having confided to his lieutenant the care of recovering the
important documents concealed at Padua, Catinat thought better of
it, and charged a trusty servant of the Abbé d’Estrades with this
mission.... When Louvois requested the list of the prisoners imprisoned
at Pignerol, with the reasons for which they were detained, he added
to his letter, ‘with reference to the two of the lower tower you need
only indicate them by this name, without putting anything else.’” If
Giuliani was charged, as we have mentioned in the preceding chapter,
to seek at Padua the papers in the possession of Matthioly’s father,
it was because, being supposed a friend of Matthioly, he would inspire
no suspicion, while it would have been very different if this mission
had been confided to Saint-Mars’ lieutenant. As for the letter in
which Louvois requests from Saint-Mars the names of his prisoners, the
dispensing with information concerning the prisoners in the lower Tower
can be explained in a very simple manner--by the fact that Louvois knew
all about them, since a short time previously they had been referred to
in the correspondence.

[555] Delort, p. 206.

[556] Louvois writes to Saint-Mars, September 20, 1681:--“The King does
not disapprove of your going from time to time to see the last prisoner
that you have in your care, when he is settled in his new prison.” M.
Loiseleur concludes from this that at this period there was only one
prisoner, and as two are again spoken of afterwards, he infers that a
new prisoner was confided to Saint-Mars. We shall hereafter concern
ourselves with this despatch, the meaning of which we shall explain.

[557] Archives of the Ministry of War; _Mémoire de Chamlay_ on the
events of 1678 to 1688:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,
sections Mantua and Savoy.

[558] _Revue Contemporaine_, p. 238.

[559] See Chapters I. to V. of the present work.

[560] _Revue Contemporaine_, p. 209, _et seq._

[561] This is within a year of the date that M. Loiseleur states,
and the exactness of which we are about to confirm. M. Loiseleur
observes with reason that the error of a year in an old man’s early
reminiscences is very probable.

[562] The governorship of the Isles Sainte-Marguerite-Saint-Honorat.

[563] Unpublished despatches from Louvois to Saint-Mars:--Archives of
the Ministry of War.




                             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]

At first this despatch appears insignificant enough. It seems to
furnish but one proof more of Louvois’ kindly interest for Saint-Mars,
an interest which was due to the Minister’s intense affection for his
mistress, Madame Dufresnoy, sister-in-law to Saint-Mars, and also,
which is perhaps a more legitimate reason, to the perfect devotion and
tried fidelity of the gaoler of Fouquet and Lauzun. However, on reading
it over again, I asked myself how Saint-Mars could dream, if Matthioly
was one of his prisoners, of soliciting to be sent to Casale, to a town
altogether Italian and even Mantuan, where Matthioly might certainly
have succeeded, if not in escaping (we know that Saint-Mars’ prisoners
could scarcely indulge in that hope), at least in giving information
concerning himself, and revealing his situation. But the sole motive of
Louvois’ refusal is, as we have just seen, the smallness of the salary
given to the commandant of Casale. If Saint-Mars, to suppose what could
never have happened, had misconceived the danger likely to be caused
by Matthioly’s presence at Casale, even as a prisoner, it is beyond
doubt that Louvois, naturally cautious (and here caution would have
been a duty) would have written to him in something like the following
words: “I am astonished that you should have formed the design of
removing to Casale. It is necessary to give it up entirely.” But on the
contrary, Louvois finds no other inconvenience in this plan than that
of the inferiority of the salary attached to the duties of Casale, and
he concludes with these words: “I do not advise you to think of it.”
It is the friend full of solicitude who speaks, and not the Minister
energetically rejecting a proposal so contrary to the interests
confided to him.

It was this despatch which first suggested to me the idea that,
contrary to the general opinion, Matthioly was not taken by Saint-Mars
from Pignerol to Exiles. As yet this was, it is true, but a very
weak presumption, which was destroyed by proofs that were apparently
irrefutable and had been accepted as such up to the present. We have,
in fact, seen that Matthioly, a short time after his arrest, was
placed in the lower Tower at Pignerol, and it was the prisoners of
this tower whom Saint-Mars was ordered to conduct to Exiles. Louvois’
despatch[574] of June 9, 1681, concludes with these words: “With regard
to the effects belonging to the Sieur Matthioly, which are in your
possession, you will have them taken to Exiles, in order to be able to
give them back to him if his Majesty should ever order him to be set at
liberty.” This is an explicit statement, and has naturally confirmed
every one in the opinion that Matthioly was removed from Pignerol to
Exiles. But the doubt which the despatch of January 5, 1682, had made
me conceive, was changed into certainty when I read the following
letter, written by Saint-Mars, to the Abbé d’Estrades, June 25, 1681,
and to be found in minute among the Estrades’ manuscripts in the
Imperial Library:--

  “June 25, 1681.

 “Sir, I should not deserve your pardon if I was certain of having
 the government of Exiles without doing myself the honour to inform
 you of it, and besides the respect which I have for you, Sir, I am
 indebted to you to such a degree that I should be an ungrateful and
 dishonest man if, during the whole of my life, I did not honour you
 with the utmost affection and respect. Rely on me, Sir, as being the
 most devoted person in the world towards yourself and bound for the
 remainder of my days with heart and love to your service. I only
 received yesterday my supplies as governor of Exiles with two thousand
 livres of salary; my free company is preserved to me as well as two
 of my lieutenants, and I shall also have in custody two crows, whom
 I have here, who have no other names than Messieurs of the lower
 Tower; Matthioli will remain here with two other prisoners. One of my
 lieutenants named Villebois will look after them, and he has a warrant
 to command either in the citadel or in the donjon during my absence,
 and until M. de Rissan returns, or his Majesty shall have provided for
 this office of Lieutenant of the King by naming some other person. The
 Chevalier de Saint-Martin has been appointed Major of Montlouis with a
 salary of seven hundred crowns, and Blainvilliers, his comrade, Major
 of the citadel of Metz, with the same pay. I do not expect to leave
 here before the end of next month. I could if I chose go there from
 time to time in order to have the repairs made which are necessary
 for the good of the service, as I have received my orders to go into
 this place of exile whenever I please; but as nothing presses, and as
 it will be necessary to take up my residence in this place in order
 to pass the winter there with the whole of my family and the bears,
 it will take time for me to accommodate myself as well as possible.
 What consoles me is that I shall have the honour of being near to the
 States of their Royal Highnesses, to whom I am as much a debtor as a
 very respectful and humble servant.”

Consequently, Matthioly was not the prisoner who died at Exiles, the
commencement of January, 1687.[575] He was therefore left at Pignerol,
where we shall soon meet with him again in charge of the Sieur de
Villebois. Louis XIV. at first had the idea of having him removed to
Exiles, as is proved by Louvois’ despatch of June 9, 1681, the last
sentence of which we have quoted. But it is none the less certain
that this first design was abandoned, and that Matthioly was left at
Pignerol.

There is also another remarkable expression in Saint-Mars’ letter. He
writes, “I shall also have in custody two crows” (_merles_). Now even
in our own time the word “crow” (_merle_) is applied only to common
and insignificant persons, of as little notoriety as importance.
Up to the present, however, it is in one of these two “crows” that
people have seen the Man with the Iron Mask. Is it objected that one
proof alone is not sufficient to establish the entire obscurity of
these two prisoners of Saint Mars? But this is confirmed also by all
we have said concerning the treatment of which Saint-Mars’ prisoners
at Pignerol were the objects, with the exception of Fouquet, Lauzun,
and Matthioly.[576] Is additional testimony required? “You can have
clothes made for your prisoners,” writes Louvois to Saint-Mars at
Exiles, December 14, 1681; “_but it is necessary that the clothes of
people like these should last three or four years_.”[577] As usual, the
Minister’s orders were punctually executed by his representative, and
when Saint-Mars left Exiles to proceed to the Isles Sainte-Marguerite,
he wrote to Versailles “that the prisoner’s bed was so old and worn
out” (we have previously seen that one of the prisoners was still alive
in 1687, the other having died in the early part of January of the same
year), “as well as everything he made use of, both table-linen and
furniture, that it was not worth while to bring them here; they only
sold for thirteen crowns.”[578] Assuredly if this is the Man with the
Iron Mask, and if he had that delicate taste for fine linen, of which
so much has been said, he must have found considerable difficulty in
gratifying it.

Saint-Mars arrives at the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, which as yet had
not been used as a State Prison, as they are at present.[579] Obeying
Louvois’ orders he causes some new buildings to be erected,[580] in
which he receives in turns various prisoners, especially Protestant
ministers.[581] Does the gaoler’s behaviour change at this period?
Is it then that we find a trace of those peculiarities which are so
abundantly proved, and which form one of the characteristic features of
the story of the Man with the Iron Mask? The following despatch from
Barbézieux to Saint-Mars will furnish us with an answer:--

  “At the Camp before Namur, June 29, 1692.[582]

 “I have received your letter of the fourth of this month. When any of
 the prisoners confided to your care will not do what you order them,
 or cause a mutiny, you have only to[583] punish them as you may think
 proper.”

It has been unceasingly repeated that Saint-Mars never quitted his
famous prisoner from the moment that he received him in charge. This is
again one of the features characterizing the mysterious captive, and
the two men are in some degree always represented as the prisoners of
one another. Do we find, either at Exiles or during the first years of
Saint-Mars’ residence at the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, this significant
peculiarity? We are about to see:--

  “December 14, 1681.

 “Nothing prevents you from going to Casale from time to time, in order
 to see Monsieur Catinat.”[584]

  “December 22, 1681.

 “His Majesty does not disapprove of your sleeping away from Exiles for
 one night when you desire to pay a visit in the neighbourhood.”[585]

  “Turin, January 9, 1682.

 “Monsieur de Saint-Mars arrived at Turin yesterday. _Some time ago
 when he passed through here_ he did me the honour to stop with me.
 But this time M. de Masin has the preference.”[586]

  “April 18, 1682.

 “The King does not disapprove of your going to pay your respects to
 the Duke of Savoy.”

  “March 7, 1685.

 “The King is willing that you should go for change of air to the place
 you may think best for your health.”

  “March 20, 1685.

 “Madame de Saint-Mars having told me that you wished to go to the
 baths of Aix in Savoy, I have informed the King, and his Majesty
 has commanded me to acquaint you that he is pleased to grant you
 permission to absent yourself from Exiles on this ground for the space
 of a fortnight or three weeks.”

  “July 5, 1688.[587]

 “The King approves of your absenting yourself from the place where you
 command, two days a month, and also of your returning the Governor of
 Nice the visit he has paid you.”[588]

Thus, save the precautions taken to prevent an escape--and we have seen
that these were prescribed to Saint-Mars, in the same form and with the
same minute instructions, for all prisoners alike, whoever they might
be, even for that Eustache d’Auger, who was turned into a servant for
Fouquet--save, I say, these precautions, necessary but exaggerated
by Saint-Mars’ scruples, we do not find in these two captives any of
the essential characteristics of the Man with the Iron Mask. Not that
we accept all those with which romance has adorned him. But, however
insignificant exact history may represent him, is he to be recognized
in one of those two men,[589] termed “crows” by Saint-Mars, “these sort
of people” by Louvois, treated in the manner we have seen; the total
value of whose effects, linen, and furniture, was only thirteen crowns,
and whom their gaoler received permission to leave frequently and for
considerable periods of time?

But there is another result of our researches, quite as unknown as that
which we have just set forth.

Saint-Mars is at the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, which he does not scruple
to leave from time to time. All at once, on February 26, 1694, the
Minister announces to him the approaching arrival at the islands of
three State prisoners who are then in the donjon of Pignerol. He
inquires of Saint-Mars “if there are secure places to confine them
in,” and orders him to make preparations, repairs, and the necessary
arrangements for their reception.[590] In another letter, on  the
following 20th of March, Barbézieux adds these words, the great
importance of which it is unnecessary to point out: “You well know
that they are of more importance, _at least, one of them_, than those
who are now at the islands, and you ought to place them by preference
in the most secure prisons.”[591] Then he orders him “to prepare the
furniture and plate necessary for their use, and impresses upon him
that the works which he is compelled to have done should be ready on
their arrival.” By the same courier he forwards fifteen hundred livres
to meet the first expenses.

A few days afterwards, in fact, three prisoners arrived at the Isles
Sainte-Marguerite, surrounded by a very strong escort, in charge of
the commandant of Pignerol, who alone gave them their food,[592] and
guided by two sure men sent on in advance by the Governor; among these
prisoners, as we shall see hereafter, was the one whom Saint-Mars some
years later took to the Bastille.


FOOTNOTES:

[564] Thus named on account of a cross to which pilgrimages were
formerly made:--_Promenades de Nice_, by Émile Negrin, p. 273.

[565] _Visite aux Îles de Lérins_, by the Abbé Alliez, 1840.

[566] _Notice sur Cannes et les Îles des Lérins_, by M. Sardou. Cannes,
Robaudy, 1867.

[567] Besides Saint-Honorat, there were Saints Aigulph, Hilary,
Patrick, Capraise, Vincent, Venantius, and many others. See the very
remarkable thesis presented to the Faculty of Letters in Paris by the
Abbé Goux, professor at the Petit Séminaire of Toulouse, and entitled,
_Lérins au Cinquième Siècle_. Paris, Eugène Belin, 1856. Also the
charming volume of MM. Girard and Bareste, _Cannes et ses Environs_.
Paris, Garnier, 1859.

[568] M. Merimée, _Note d’un Voyage dans le Midi de la France_, p. 256,
_et seq._

[569] A flag of truce came from the Duke of Savoy to notify to M. la
Mothe-Guérin, governor of the islands, the order to cease firing. “The
first person,” replied La Mothe-Guérin, “who has the audacity to come
again to me as the bearer of such a message, I shall immediately have
hung:”--M. Sardou, work already cited, p. 111. “It was when under fire
from the Isles Sainte-Marguerite,” the Duke of Savoy said afterwards,
“that I knew better than anywhere else that I was in an enemy’s
country.”

[570] It is to be remarked that according to the first work which makes
mention of the Man with the Iron Mask, the prisoner was conducted to
the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, and there confided to Saint-Mars. This is
the _Mémoires Secrets pour servir à l’Histoire de Perse_, from which we
have reproduced the entire passage in Chapter VI. of the present work
(see p. 69, _ante_).

[571] The passages of this Journal relating to the prisoner are given
in Chapter XIII. of the present work (see pp. 164, 165, _ante_).

[572] M. Baudry, _Revue de l’Instruction Publique_, June 25, 1868.

[573] Archives of the Ministry of War.

[574] Given by Delort, p. 269.

[575] This is now placed beyond doubt, and moreover we shall find
Matthioly’s name occurring later in the despatches from Louvois to the
commandant of the donjon of Pignerol. With respect to the testimony of
the Sieur Souchon, which, following M. Loiseleur, we have given in the
preceding chapter, it is rather confused in the _Mémoires d’un Voyageur
qui se repose_ (vol. ii. pp. 204-210 of Bossange’s edition), and very
clear in the work of Father Papon, but with the signification of _the
death of the servant_ and not of Matthioly himself. The following is
the passage from the _Voyage Littéraire de Provence_ (pp. 148, 149,
edition 1780), integrally reproduced: “The person who waited on the
prisoner died at the Isle Sainte-Marguerite. The father of the officer
of whom I have just spoken (Souchon, seventy-nine years old), who was
in certain matters the man of confidence of M. de Saint-Mars, had
always told his son that he had taken the dead man from his prison
at the hour of midnight, and had carried him on his shoulders to the
burial-ground.”

[576] We shall refer hereafter to the treatment of Matthioly.

[577] Archives of the Ministry of War.

[578] Letter given by Delort, p. 284.

[579] In 1633, Richelieu had the Fort Royal built on the northern shore
of the Isle Sainte-Marguerite, but it was on the arrival of Saint-Mars
that the buildings were erected which were to serve for prisoners of
very various classes. The following unpublished letter, written by M.
de Grignan, Lieutenant-General of Provence, September 29, 1691, proves
that previous to this date the Isle Sainte-Marguerite was a State
Prison:--

“The guard which I had placed at Cannes have arrested a sailor,
supposed to belong to Oneglia, who was coming from the direction of
Genoa, and who, from his replies, in which he has varied a great deal,
has given grounds for belief that he has been put ashore by the Spanish
galleys and is a spy, who, under pretence of carrying to Toulon a
letter from a captain of Genoa, was going there to obtain information.
He has been taken to the Isles of Sainte-Marguerite.

  “L. DE GRIGNAN, L. G. of Provence.

  “September 29, 1691, to M. de Pontchartrain.”--Archives
  of the Ministry of Marine, Correspondence.

Another letter, dated July 21, 1681, from Count de Grignan to M. de
Pontchartrain, shows that the island was beginning to be armed for the
defence of the coast:--

“M. de Saint-Mars, governor of the islands of Sainte-Marguerite and
Saint-Honorat de Lérins, speaks to me of provisions which he is obliged
to fetch from the mainland, and of the twenty-five pieces of cannon
which require carriages.”--_Ibid._

[580] In a despatch dated January 8, 1688, Saint-Mars hastens to
apprise Louvois that his new prisons are quite ready and waiting to be
occupied:--

“Monseigneur,--I will do myself the honour to tell you that I have
placed my prisoner, who is generally in bad health, in one of the new
prisons which I have had built according to your instructions. They are
large, lofty, and light, and considering their excellence, I do not
think that there are any stronger or more secure in Europe, and in like
manner for everything that can concern the giving of intelligence by
word of mouth from near and far, which was not the case in the places
where I have had the care of the late Monsieur Fouquet from the moment
that he was arrested. With a little precaution one might even allow
the prisoners to walk about the whole of the island, without any fear
of their escaping or of their giving or receiving news. I take the
liberty, monseigneur, to point out to you in detail the excellence of
this place in case you may at any time have prisoners whom you wish to
put in perfect security with a fair amount of liberty.

“Throughout this province people say that mine is Monsieur de Beaufort
and others the son of the late Cromwell.”

[581] The greater portion of the despatches relating to the
Protestants confined in the islands have been given by Depping in his
_Correspondance Administrative sous Louis XIV._.

[582] Unpublished despatch from Barbézieux to Saint-Mars, June 29,
1692:--Archives of the Ministry of War.

[583] The following words are here erased:--“beat them severely, and.”

[584] Unpublished despatch from Louvois to Saint-Mars:--Archives of the
Ministry of War.

[585] _Ibid._:--_Ibid._

[586] Manuscripts of the Imperial Library, _Papiers d’Estrades_. This
letter and several others in the same collection are a proof of the
friendship which subsisted between Saint-Mars and the Abbé d’Estrades.

“On the first of next month, Monsieur de Catinat,” we read in a letter
from Saint-Mars to the Abbé d’Estrades, September 27, 1681, “will be
the governor of the citadel which you have brought into the King’s
possession.” He refers to Casale, and these words would suffice to
prove, what is already attested by the active part played by Saint-Mars
with Catinat in 1679, viz., that Saint-Mars had been kept informed
of all the details of the two negotiations. Consequently, as we have
already shown in the preceding chapter, the famous sentence of Louvois’
despatch to Saint-Mars, August 13, 1681--“The King having ordered
Monsieur de Catinat to proceed as soon as possible to Pignerol _on the
same business which took him there at the commencement of the year
1679_”--has and can have only one meaning, that is to say, the taking
possession of Casale, and not the arrest of a new prisoner.

But M. Loiseleur brings forward another argument in order to attempt to
prove that an obscure spy was arrested by Catinat in 1681. This is the
following letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, September 20, 1681:--“The
King does not disapprove of your going from time to time to see the
last prisoner whom you have in charge, when he is settled in his new
prison, and has left that in which you are keeping him. His Majesty
desires that you shall execute the order which he has sent you,” &c.
And the same critic concludes, from a despatch from Saint-Mars to
Louvois, March 11, 1682, which again mentions two prisoners, that,
between September 20, 1681, and March 11, 1682, a new prisoner was
confided to Saint-Mars.

Let us remark, firstly, that the space of time in question is much
more limited still. M. Loiseleur only made use of documents already
published. But, November 18, 1681, Louvois, in a despatch as yet
unprinted, says to Saint-Mars, with reference to his prisoners: “The
King approves of your choosing a doctor to visit your prisoners, and of
your employing the Sieur Vignon to confess them once a year.” From this
it would appear that a new prisoner was confided to Saint-Mars, between
September 20 and November 18, 1681; but, as we have already said in
the last chapter, there is nowhere any trace of this prisoner, this
so-called spy. On the other hand, for the despatch of September 20,
1681, to have the meaning which M. Loiseleur attributes to it, one of
the two prisoners of the lower Tower must have died some days previous
to September 20, since at this date only one prisoner is spoken of. Of
this death or disappearance we have no proof or even trace. Thus the
whole argument rests upon this single despatch, of which M. Loiseleur
not only makes use in order to prove that a new prisoner had been
confided to Saint-Mars, but from which he also deduces that one of the
prisoners previously confined had disappeared.

This single despatch thus standing alone, and completely unsupported,
would be far from being sufficient to establish this theory.
Nevertheless, it is essential to discover its true meaning, so as
to leave no doubt in the reader’s mind, and to make every part
of our demonstration clear and plain. I acknowledge having spent
a considerable time in thinking over this despatch, which was
contradicted by all the others, which suited no theory, and which
was nevertheless authentic and very exactly reproduced, since I
went several times to read the draft of it, at the Archives of the
Ministry of War. Even if it had possessed the meaning that M. Loiseleur
attributed to it, it would not have destroyed my conclusions at
all, since the proofs which I had furnished of the obscurity of the
Exiles prisoners were also applicable to this new prisoner brought
between November and September, 1681, and because the superior
importance of the prisoners afterwards taken from Pignerol to the
Isles Sainte-Marguerite, would not have been demonstrated any the
less clearly by the despatches which I am about to quote. But it
was repugnant to me to leave a single point obscure; and after much
reflection, and after having been for a long while of M. Loiseleur’s
opinion, although nothing outside of this despatch justifies his
interpretation, I believe that I have discovered its true meaning.

“The King does not disapprove,” says the despatch which we are
discussing, “of your going from time to time to see the last prisoner
whom you have in charge, when he is settled in his new prison and
has left that in which you are keeping him.” At first I thought it
very strange that one of Saint-Mars’ prisoners should “settle” in his
prison without his gaoler, and connecting this fact with the numerous
despatches which show that at this period, or at least at one not very
remote from it, Saint-Mars still had two prisoners, I have ended by
concluding that the word “prisoner” is not used here by Louvois in its
ordinary sense, but figuratively. I then recollected that in 1681, as
in 1679, Catinat was at Pignerol, and treated in appearance at least as
a prisoner. The following despatch from Catinat to Louvois, September
6, 1681, leaves no doubt on the subject: “I have called myself Guibert,
(we have seen that in 1679, he had taken the name of Richemont), and
I am supposed to be an engineer _who has been arrested_ by the King’s
orders for having deserted with a number of plans of places on the
frontiers of Flanders. M. de Saint-Mars _keeps me here with every
appearance of my being a prisoner_,” &c. On the other hand, during
Catinat’s two stays at Pignerol, with two years’ interval between them,
a profound friendship had sprung up between him and Saint-Mars. The
despatch which we are discussing was dated September 20, 1681. Now, on
the 28th, Catinat was to leave, and indeed did leave Pignerol, and on
October 1, he was installed at Casale as governor. In an unpublished
letter from Saint-Mars to the Abbé d’Estrades, September 27, 1681, is
an expression which explains everything: “I have given your letter to
M. de Catinat, and he will have the honour to communicate with you when
he is _settled_. He leaves to-morrow, Sunday, with the infantry, and no
one is more your servant than he is. The first of next month he will
be received as governor of the citadel which you have brought into the
King’s possession (Casale).”--Imperial Library, Manuscripts, _Papiers
d’Estrades_. Now this very expression, “when he is settled,” occurs in
Louvois’ despatch, September 20, which Saint-Mars had just received
when he was writing to d’Estrades.

But, it will be said, why does Louvois make use of the words “in his
new prison” to describe Casale? Because, no doubt, Catinat had not left
Louvois ignorant that a monotonous residence at Casale was disagreeable
to him, and that he would very much prefer to return to the army of
Flanders. Lastly, December 14, 1681, Louvois writes to Saint-Mars, who,
from his excessive scruples, had probably renewed his request for an
authorisation: “Nothing need prevent your going to Casale from time to
time, in order to visit M. Catinat.”

It is therefore to Catinat that reference is made in the despatch
of September 20, 1681, to Catinat, the last of the prisoners whom
Saint-Mars still had in his care, for, since the month of June,
Matthioly had been confided to Villebois, and the two prisoners left
to Saint-Mars were two “crows,” whom no doubt he had already taken to
Exiles.

It is to Catinat that he refers, and this despatch can no longer be
made to serve as a pretext for the theory according to which a new
prisoner was arrested by Catinat in 1681.

[587] Saint-Mars was now at the Isles Sainte-Marguerite.

[588] This and the three preceding despatches are from Louvois to
Saint-Mars, and are to be found in the Archives of the Ministry of War.

[589] The “crow” taken by Saint-Mars to the Islands was undoubtedly the
Jacobin monk, as is proved by the following despatch from Barbézieux to
Saint-Mars: “Versailles, August 13, 1691--Your letter of the 26th of
last month has been handed to me. When you have anything to inform me
concerning the prisoner who has been in your charge for the last twenty
years, I beg you to adopt the same precautions as you made use of when
communicating with M. de Louvois.” Twenty years is undoubtedly a round
number, and the Jacobin monk, imprisoned since 1674, had then suffered
seventeen years of captivity. A great deal of importance has been
ascribed to this despatch, because it was one of the very few belonging
to this period which were known to exist. We have just seen, however,
that its value is very much diminished by comparison with the other
letters which we have transcribed. The recommendation that Barbézieux
gives in it is purely a matter of form, and similar injunctions were
transmitted to Villebois and afterwards to Laprade, when charged with
the care of Matthioly.

[590] Unpublished despatch from Barbézieux to Saint-Mars, February 26,
1694:--Archives of the Ministry of War.

[591] Unpublished despatch from Barbézieux to Saint-Mars, March 20,
1694:--_Ibid._

[592] “The King charges you that no one but yourself shall give
them to eat, as you have done since they were confided to your
care;”--Unpublished despatch from Barbézieux to Laprade, who, on the
death of Villebois, succeeded to the governorship of the donjon of
Pignerol.




                            CHAPTER XXIII.

 Behaviour of Charles IV., Duke of Mantua, towards his ex-Minister--His
 true Sentiments with reference to him--Precautions prescribed to
 Villebois and Laprade for the Prisoners left by Saint-Mars at
 Pignerol.--Change in Louis XIV.’s Position in Italy--Transfer of the
 Pignerol Prisoners to the Isles Sainte-Marguerite--Instructions given
 to Marshal de Tessé--Increase of Saint-Mars’ Watchfulness--Mystery
 surrounding the three Prisoners--Great Importance of one of them
 compared with the others--It is he who was the Man with the Iron Mask.


Matthioly was left by Saint-Mars at Pignerol, and the long silence
concerning him preserved by Louvois and Saint-Mars from the time of
the latter’s departure for Exiles, receives in that manner its natural
explanation. When I had assured myself of this, I sought in the
Archives of the Ministry of War for all the despatches addressed either
by Louis XIV. or by the Minister to the Sieur de Villebois, Governor of
the donjon, or to the Sieur Laprade, who, after the latter’s death, in
April 1692, replaced him in these duties. Now, I have not only found in
these despatches the confirmation of Matthioly’s presence at Pignerol,
but also fresh proofs of the very strict precautions of which the
prisoners left in this citadel continued to be the objects.

It has often been asked how it was that the Duke of Mantua should
have remained indifferent to the fate of his old favourite, and not
have inquired concerning him of Louis XIV., whom he ought to have
known was alone in a position to furnish him with information. As the
despatches from the Court of Mantua, published either by Delort or by
others, do not mention Matthioly’s name after the date of his arrest,
people have explained this silence by the frivolous indifference of the
young duke, and it must be admitted that the character of this prince
rendered such an explanation very probable. Moreover, this silence has
very much contributed to diminish the importance of Count Matthioly,
and we have been told many times that there could have been nothing
very considerable in the position of a person who suddenly disappeared
without his master even thinking of inquiring what had become of him.
But this is an error. However light and careless Charles IV. may have
been, he did occupy himself with the fate of Matthioly; but far from
endeavouring to deliver him, he regarded his release as a danger.
Indeed, by breaking off the project of the cession of Casale by his
desertion, Matthioly had not only tricked Louis XIV., but had also
profoundly incensed the Duke of Mantua, whom he had thus surrendered
to the violent recriminations, and perhaps later, to the vengeance
of the other Italian princes. If Louis XIV. had not had him carried
off, Charles IV. would have charged himself with this care, and would
have brought about the disappearance of the inconvenient witness
of his intrigues with the Court of Versailles, the agent who had
negotiated the sale of one of the keys of Italy, the confidant whose
very existence was a reproach, whose words were an ever-threatened
accusation, and whose testimony was invaluable to the enemies of the
Duke of Mantua.

“M. de Mantua,” writes the Abbé d’Estrades to Pomponne, June 10, 1679,
“shows uneasiness as to what can have become of Matthioly, whose
conduct he blames.... I inform him concerning Matthioly that, _although
I do not know where he is_, and for the last two months have had no
news of him, I do not hesitate to assure him that he cannot interfere
at all in our negotiation, and that he will not even have the least
suspicion of it; that he may set his mind at rest concerning this, and
that I pledge him my word for it.”[593]

Two years afterwards the Abbé Morel, the French ambassador, when about
to proceed to Mantua, to Charles IV., with the view of renewing the
project of surrender, writes from Turin to Louis XIV.:--

  “Turin, August 9, 1681.

 “I have no doubt that on my return to Mantua, the Duke will question
 me as to what will be done with Matioly after the execution of the
 treaty. Perhaps it would be as well to give me a line of information
 on this point.”[594]

And Louis XIV. himself replies in a manner to calm Charles IV.’s
uneasiness, but still without revealing the place of Matthioly’s
confinement:--

  “Fontainebleau, August 21, 1681.

 “I have already informed you that you may assure the Duke of Mantua
 that Mathioly will not leave the place where he is without the
 consent of that prince; and if there are any other measures to be
 taken for his satisfaction, you will inform me of them. On this,
 etc.”[595]

Can one have any doubt of the true sentiments of the Duke of Mantua
after reading the following despatch?--

 “The Duke of Mantua has learnt with much joy and with sentiments of
 lively gratitude, what it has pleased your Majesty to order me to
 inform him concerning Matthioli. He had intended to thank me this
 evening personally in an audience which he wished to accord me; but I
 have found it impossible to attend, owing to a very painful rheumatism
 in the neck, which has forced me to keep my bed during the last three
 days.”[596]

This joy of Charles IV. on learning that he no longer had to dread the
sudden appearance of his accomplice is sadly significant. He could
again treat with Louis XIV. without fearing lest his too well-informed
ex-minister should proceed to impress upon the attention of the other
princes the conditions to which the Duke of Mantua had agreed, by
consenting to put himself under the complete control of the most
dangerous of Italy’s enemies. Everything thus combined to perpetuate
the confinement of the unfortunate Minister, and the interest of
Charles IV. as much as the pride of Louis XIV. required that he who had
deceived the one and humiliated the other should be removed from the
world for ever.

This was done; and we have seen with what a mystery and with what
an abundance of precautions and minute cares Villebois was charged
to guard him at Pignerol, after Saint-Mars’ departure for Exiles.
Villebois never once left his prisoner. On March 22, 1682,[597]
actuated by a scruple similar to those which had often possessed
Saint-Mars, Villebois asked the Minister, to whom he was to confide
the care of his prisoners if he should fall ill? Louvois replied, “To
the one in whom you have most confidence.” “The King approves,” wrote
the Minister, April 13, 1682, “of your lending the prisoners with
whose care you are charged the books of devotion which they ask of
you, taking all due precautions that these may not serve to give them
intelligence of any kind.”[598] “With reference to the priest whom the
prisoners ask for,” we read in a despatch of December 11, 1683, “I
have to tell you that they should only be allowed to confess once a
year.”[599] “I have received your letter of the 14th of last month,”
writes Louvois, May 1, 1684, “from which I perceive the rage of the
Sieur Matthioly’s servant (_valet_)[600] towards you, and the manner
in which you have punished him, which must certainly be approved of,
and you ought always to act in the same manner on a like occasion.”
On November 26, 1689, Louvois learns “that some one had come by night
to a door of the bastion of Pignerol, where the apartments of the
prisoners are situated, with the intention of getting in,” and he
orders Villebois “to omit nothing to endeavour to discover those who
have done so.”[601] On July 28, 1692, when the Sieur de Laprade is
about to assume the governorship, left vacant by Villebois’ death,
Barbézieux writes to him “that he cannot take too many precautions for
the security of the prisoners with whose care he is charged.” The same
instructions are addressed to him on October 31 following.[602] Despite
these incessant precautions, and the vigilance of which he was the
object, Matthioly still endeavoured to give tidings of himself, but it
was only on the linings of his pockets that he managed to write a few
words. He was discovered, and the Minister writes to Laprade, December
27, 1693, “You have merely to burn what remains of the little pieces
of the pockets on which Matthioly and his man have written, and which
you have found in the lining of their coats, where they had hidden
them.”[603]

This care in destroying everything that might reveal Matthioly’s
presence at Pignerol had at that time become especially necessary. It
was no longer, as in 1679, merely Louis XIV.’s pride which exacted that
the greatest mystery should surround his victim’s existence. Since
the date of the abduction, the face of things in Italy had changed.
The King of France could no longer hold forth there as a master; his
armies had ceased to be constantly victorious, and he was expiating his
impolitic and inopportune interference in the affairs of the peninsula.
That petty Duke of Savoy, whom we saw twelve years previously
submitting himself, with imprecations, to the yoke of his imperious
neighbour, had, in 1693, attained a position which enabled him to
exercise over the progress of events an influence much greater than
that due to the extent of his territories. This Prince had succeeded
in counterbalancing the weakness of his position by his duplicity in
changing his alliances, by his dissembling language, and by his happy
promptitude in making use of favourable circumstances. In his policy he
had always preferred sharp practices to honest acts, and he deceived
in turn and with equal perfidy both Louis XIV. and the enemies of the
King of France. The latter was anxious for peace, with the view of
directing all his efforts and all his attention towards the question
of the Spanish succession, just about to open; and peace depended
almost entirely upon Victor-Amadeus, who, at first so humble, and for
a long time so despised, was now taking his revenge. “We are proud,
and wish to make use of the necessity in which we know very well that
the King is placed, in order to make a general peace for ourselves,”
said the Marquis de Saint-Thomas,[604] Minister of Savoy, to Count de
Tessé. So it was no longer the restitution of the conquests made in
Piedmont, and the surrender of Caslae, that Victor-Amadeus demanded,
but the possession of Pignerol, that valuable acquisition of Richelieu,
a French town for the last sixty years, and whose surrender, which
Louis XIV. finished by resigning himself, was a just expiation for
his ambitious projects of aggrandisement. Possessing already one of
the keys of Italy, he had wished to acquire the other, so as to keep
under his control the Duke of Savoy, who would thus have been enclosed
between two formidable towns, and he was now compelled to cede him
Pignerol, and to withdraw his troops from Casale.

Matthioly, who had played the principal part in the early negotiations
relating to the latter place, suffered in the obscurity of his prison
the consequence of this sudden change in Italian affairs; since he
was one of the three State-prisoners whom the King of France caused
to be transferred from Pignerol to the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, March
19, 1694. Not that his name was then mentioned. After the despatch of
December 27, 1693, concerning what he had written on his coat-pockets,
he was no longer named. Indeed, it was more than ever necessary to hide
from every one this victim of an audacious and inexcusable offence
against international law. The discontent of Europe against Louis XIV.
being extremely strong, and the interests of his policy requiring him
to calm it at any price, it was then especially essential to cover with
impenetrable mystery an existence which recalled at once the menacing
ambition, the audacity, and also the defeat of a great king. So there
have, perhaps, never been so many minute precautions imposed for a
journey of this nature. At the same time that Laprade was receiving
the most circumstantial and precise instructions with reference to the
transfer, the Marquis d’Herleville, Governor of Pignerol, and the Count
de Tessé, commanding the French troops in that place, had orders “to
furnish escorts and advance all the money required for the expenses
of the journey.” Tessé was instructed not to inquire the names of the
prisoners, and to absolutely overcome every temptation to a dangerous
curiosity.[605] The following unpublished despatch is a proof of this:--

  “Turin, March 27, 1694.

 “I do not reply to you concerning that which you have done me the
 honour to write me _with your own hand_, with reference to the
 prisoners of the donjon, except that I shall conduct myself according
 to your orders and instructions with the greatest secrecy, entire
 circumspection, and every possible measure for the security of these
 prisoners, without having the slightest temptation to the least petty
 curiosity.”[606]

But, no matter how great the precautions taken may have been, no matter
how reserved from that date Barbézieux and Saint-Mars may have shown
themselves in their despatches, these still disclose something; and,
fine as may be the thread which will permit us to follow Matthioly to
his death, it is nevertheless visible.

The prisoners delivered over by Laprade to Saint-Mars were old
captives, whom the latter had already had in charge at Pignerol. This
is clear: 1st, from a despatch, dated January 11, 1694, in which the
Minister asks Saint-Mars the name of one of Laprade’s prisoners who
had just died;[607] 2nd, from the conclusion of the first despatch,
announcing to Saint-Mars the approaching arrival of the prisoners at
Pignerol: “I do not inform you of the number, persuaded that you know
it;”[608] 3rd, from that significant phrase which we have already
quoted from the second despatch relating to the transfer of these
prisoners: “You know that they are of more consequence, or at least
one of them, than those who are now at the Islands, and you ought to
place them by preference in the surest prisons.”[609] Now it is quite
certain, that at the time of his departure from Pignerol to Exiles,
Saint-Mars had no other considerable prisoner except Matthioly, Fouquet
being dead and Lauzun set at liberty. We may remark, too, that it is
in Villebois’ care that he leaves him, Villebois who, with Catinat,
had been charged with the mission of arresting Matthioly on the road
to Turin.[610] When Villebois dies, it is another of Saint-Mars’
confidential lieutenants--the Sieur de Laprade, who is sent from
the Islands to command in the donjon of Pignerol.[611] Consequently
Saint-Mars--and this is an essential point to establish,--did not cease
to be acquainted with Matthioly’s fate, and it is his own lieutenants
who have replaced him for a time in guarding this prisoner.

We have shown, in the preceding chapter,[612] the evident obscurity
of the insignificant prisoner brought by Saint-Mars from Exiles to
the Isles Sainte-Marguerite. His furniture and effects are only
worth thirteen crowns; his gaoler leaves him without scruple; he is
designated as “a crow.” A new prisoner, “of more consequence than the
others,” arrives at the Islands. From that moment Saint-Mars does not
quit them; but immediately imagines fresh measures for the safety of
his prisoners, which the Minister approves, July 20, 1694.[613]

It is about this period that we find, in the official despatches,
the name of the Sieur Favre, whom the most unquestionable tradition
represents as having been chaplain of the prison at the time that
the Man with the Iron Mask was confined there.[614] Barbézieux, who
previously had not been troubled with this anxiety, all at once
thinks of what would happen if Saint-Mars should fall ill, and, with
anxious solicitude, inquires[615] immediately what would be done if
this should occur.[616] On January 15, 1696, we find a new despatch
from Barbézieux, expressing, in the King’s name and his own, the
satisfaction experienced on learning the precautions adopted.[617]
On October 29, 1696, the Minister causes the locks of the donjon of
Pignerol to be sent to the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, in order to render
the confinement of the prisoners more secure.[618]

But there follows a despatch more significant still. Its existence was
first revealed, then contested, and historical criticism finished by no
longer believing in it, and by rejecting it altogether. Nevertheless it
exists, and I have reproduced it in Chapter V.[619] It concludes thus:
“Without explaining yourself to any one whatever about what your old
prisoner has done.”

These words: “Your old prisoner,” have grammatically but one
meaning--that is to say, the prisoner whom you formerly had in your
care, and who has been again confided to you. Besides, I may remark,
that if there should be any doubt about the meaning, this phrase cannot
possibly apply to the prisoner brought by Saint-Mars from Exiles,
since he arrived at the island in April, 1687. For, how can we imagine
that the inhabitants of Sainte-Marguerite would have waited ten years,
before concerning themselves with the causes of his confinement? This
curiosity of the inhabitants of the island, this astonishment, the
prime origin of the legend which became current in the district, is
very naturally explained by the arrival of the prisoners from Pignerol,
surrounded by a strong escort, guarded by Saint-Mars’ confidential men,
placed, one at least, in the most secure prison, and the importance
of whom was attested by the preparations, repairs, and purchases
executed at the time by Saint-Mars. There is nothing striking in the
treatment of the prisoner brought from Exiles, nothing which could
excite surprise, and, anyhow, there is the positive certainty that this
surprise would have been produced in any case during the early years of
his residence at the Isles Sainte-Marguerite.

Pignerol was restored to the Duke of Savoy a short time after the
arrival of the new prisoners at the islands. I have carefully
looked through all the despatches exchanged between Lamothe-Guérin,
Saint-Mars’ successor at the Islands, and the Court of Versailles,
during the ten years (1698 to 1708) which followed the latter’s
departure for the Bastille.[620] Not one of them contains the name of
Matthioly, or makes mention of an important prisoner, left behind by
Saint-Mars. Matthioly was still at Pignerol on December 27, 1693, a few
months previous to the transfer of the three prisoners to the Isles
Sainte-Marguerite. They were all old captives formerly in the care of
Saint-Mars. The latter, we have seen, was ignorant of the causes of
their detention, _save of Matthioly’s alone_. The logical conclusion
of our preceding remarks is, therefore, that these words: “Without
explaining yourself to any one whatever about _what your old prisoner
has done_,” are applicable to what the Government of Versailles termed
the treason of Matthioly. ] If this be admitted--and we trust that our
readers will have no doubt with reference to it--if it be admitted that
the despatch of November 17, 1697, is applicable to Matthioly, the only
prisoner, we must again repeat, whose crime Saint-Mars was acquainted
with, the identity of the Man with the Iron Mask is established.

On March 1, 1698, Barbézieux offers Saint-Mars the nomination to the
Governorship of the Bastille.[621] He accepts this offer, and, on June
17, 1698, the Minister replies:--

  “Versailles, June 17, 1698.

 “I have remained a long time without answering the letter which you
 have taken the trouble to write me the 8th of last month, because the
 King has not explained his intentions to me earlier. I shall now tell
 you that his Majesty has seen with pleasure that you are determined
 to come to the Bastille in order to be its governor. You can arrange
 everything so as to be ready to leave when I shall write to you, and
 bring your old prisoner with you in all safety.

 “I have agreed with Mons. Saumery that he shall give you two thousand
 crowns for your expenses in moving your furniture.”

The 19th July following, Barbézieux wrote again:--

  “Marly, July 19, 1698.

 “I have received the letter that you have taken the trouble to write
 me the 9th of this month. The King approves of your leaving the Isles
 Sainte-Marguerite to come to the Bastille with your old prisoner,
 taking your precautions to prevent his being seen or known by any one.
 You can write in advance to his Majesty’s Lieutenant of this château
 to have a chamber ready to place this prisoner in on your arrival.”

We thus find, in the two despatches sent to Saint-Mars on the eve
of his departure for the Bastille, at that very important moment
when he is about to commence his journey across France, these same
characteristic words:--“Your old prisoner.” This is not all. What I
have termed the perfect agreement, the exact correspondence between the
prisoner who entered the Bastille, September 18, 1698, and Matthioly,
is rendered more complete and more exact still by the only document
concerning the Man with the Iron Mask, besides despatches, which has
as yet been admitted without controversy--viz., Dujonca’s Journal. If
we refer to Chapter XIII.[622] of the present work we shall perceive
that he too terms the prisoner who accompanied Saint-Mars “_his old
prisoner_ whom he had at Pignerol.” At the Bastille he was called
merely the “prisoner from Provence,”[623] because it was in Provence
that he was confided to Saint-Mars, and Dujonca is none the less exact
in terming him the old prisoner from Pignerol, since Matthioly had
been two years at Pignerol under the care of Saint-Mars. Of all the
captives of whom Saint-Mars was the gaoler, Matthioly is thus the
only one who reconciles the two apparently contradictory features of
the Man with the Iron Mask, whom an undoubted tradition represents as
having been brought to Saint-Mars at the Islands, and whom indisputable
documents show to have also been imprisoned at Pignerol. The general
error has been to represent the Iron Mask as going from Pignerol to
Exiles, the name of which was never mentioned by Dujonca, and not to
pay sufficient attention to this fact, viz., that tradition as well as
rare contemporary documents assign only three prisons, and not four, to
the mysterious captive: Pignerol, the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, and the
Bastille.


FOOTNOTES:

[593] Unpublished despatch:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs, section Savoy, 68.

[594] Unpublished despatch from the Abbé Morel to Louis XIV.:--Archives
of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Mantua, 15.

[595] Unpublished despatch from Louis XIV. to the Abbé Morel:--Archives
of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Mantua, 15.

[596] Unpublished despatch from the Abbé Morel to Louis XIV.:--_Ibid._

[597] Unpublished despatch from Louvois to Villebois, March 30,
1682:--Archives of the Ministry of War.

[598] _Ibid._, April 13, 1682.

[599] _Ibid._, December 11, 1685.

[600] Here followed “de chambre,” but these two words have been erased.

[601] Unpublished despatches from Louvois to Villebois of May 1, 1684,
and November 26, 1689.

[602] Unpublished despatch from Barbézieux to Laprade, July 28 1692.

[603] _Ibid._, December 27, 1693.

[604] Letter from Tessé to Barbézieux, December 1693:--Archives of the
Ministry of War, 1271. Given by M. Rousset, vol. iv. p. 531.

[605] Unpublished despatches from Barbézieux to Laprade, March 20,
1694, and from Louis XIV. to the Marquis d’Herleville, March 19, 1694.

[606] Unpublished despatch from Marshal de Tessé to Barbézieux, March
27, 1694:--Archives of the Ministry of War.

[607] January 11, 1694, Barbézieux writes to Saint-Mars: “The Sieur de
Laprade, to whom the King has confided the care of the prisoners who
are confined by his Majesty’s orders in the donjon of Pignerol, writes
me word that the one who has been imprisoned longest is dead, and that
he does not know his name. As I have no doubt but that you remember
it, I beg you to inform me of it in cipher.” The oldest prisoner was
Eustache d’Auger, who was confined, as we have seen, in 1669. Anyhow it
could not be Matthioly, since we have given a few pages back a despatch
from Laprade, December 27, 1693, in which he mentions his name in
reference to what he had written on the lining of his coat. Now Laprade
would never have asked in January, 1694, the name of a prisoner whom he
knew in December, 1693.

[608] Unpublished despatch from Barbézieux to Saint-Mars, February 20,
1694.

[609] _Ibid._, March 20, 1694.

[610] Despatch from Catinat to Louvois, May 3, 1679:--Given by Delort,
p. 212.

[611] Unpublished despatch from Barbézieux to Saint-Mars, May 5,
1692:--Archives of the Ministry of War.

[612] Pp. 322-331, _ante_.

[613] Unpublished despatch from Barbézieux to Saint-Mars, July 20, 1694.

[614] _Ibid._, December 5, 1694.

[615] _Ibid._, December 20, 1694.

[616] A despatch overlooked by M. Topin when writing this work, but
subsequently published by him, and in which Saint-Mars describes the
minute precautions he adopts in order to ensure the safe custody of
his prisoners and prevent them from communicating with any one, is
sufficiently curious to be given at full length:--

  “Monseigneur,--

 “You command me to inform you how people would act when I am absent or
 ill, with reference to the precautions which are taken and the visits
 which are paid every day to the prisoners who are committed to my care.

 “My two lieutenants give them to eat at fixed hours, as they have
 seen me do, and as I still do very often when I am well; and this is
 how, Monseigneur. The senior of my lieutenants takes the keys of the
 prison of my _old prisoner_, with whom they commence, opens the three
 doors and enters the chamber of the prisoner, who politely hands him
 the dishes and plates which he has placed on the top of one another in
 order to give them to the lieutenant, who only goes out through two of
 the doors to hand them to one of my sergeants, who receives them and
 carries them to a table two paces off, where is my second lieutenant,
 who examines everything that enters or leaves the prison, so that
 he may see that there is nothing written on the plate; and after
 everything necessary has been given him [the prisoner], a search is
 made in and under his bed and among the window-bars of his chamber, as
 well as in the whole of the chamber, and very often on himself; after
 having very civilly asked him if he has need of anything, they shut
 the doors and go to do the same for the other prisoners.

 “Twice a week their table-linen is changed, as well as their shirts
 and the linen of which they make use, which is given to them and taken
 away again after having been counted and after everything has been
 well searched.

 “One can be very much cheated about the linen when it leaves and
 enters for the service of prisoners who are people of consideration,
 as I have had some who have wished to bribe the laundresses, who have
 acknowledged to me, which they had little difficulty in doing, what
 had been said to them, on account of which I used to have all their
 linen steeped in water on leaving their chambers, and when it was
 clean and half dry, the laundresses came to iron and smooth it in my
 apartments in the presence of one of my lieutenants, who locked up
 the baskets in a chest until they were handed over to the servants of
 messieurs the prisoners. There is much to be distrusted in candles; I
 have found some which on being broken or used contained paper instead
 of wicks. I used to send to buy some at Turin at shops not tampered
 with. It is also very dangerous for ribbon to leave a prisoner’s
 apartment, as he writes on it as on linen without any one being aware
 of it.

 “The late Monsieur Fouquet made fine and good paper on which I
 allowed him to write, and afterwards I went and took it from a little
 pocket which he had made in the seat of his breeches, which I sent to
 Monseigneur your late father.”

 [The commencement of the second leaf has been torn; the following only
 remains:--]

 “As a last precaution, the prisoners are searched from time to time,
 both day and night, at hours which are not fixed, when it is often
 found that they have written on dirty linen that which they alone are
 able to read, as you will have seen from that which I have had the
 honour to forward you. If it is necessary, Monseigneur, that I should
 do anything else in order to more completely fulfil my duty, I shall
 glory all my life in obeying you with the same respect and submission
 as I am,

  “Monseigneur,
  “Your very humble, very obedient, and very obliged servant,
  “DE SAINT-MARS.

 “At the Islands, this January 6, 1696.”

The above despatch, as well as the one given on p. 324, note
17, _ante_, is to be found in draft in the collection of M.
Mauge-du-Bois-des-Entes. They have both been given by Monmerqué and
Champollion-Figeac.--_Trans._

[617] Unpublished despatch from Barbézieux to Saint-Mars.

[618] _Ibid._, October 29, 1696.

[619] See p. 61, _ante_.

[620] I have read one by one all the despatches addressed during the
years 1698-1708 by the Ministers Chamillart and Voysin (successors of
Barbézieux at the Ministry of War) to Lamothe-Guérin, and nothing in
them applies to Matthioly.

Barbézieux, incensed at the elevation of his rival Chamillart,
gave himself up to dissipation in order to drown his annoyance. He
retired to his château of L’Etang at the boundary of the park of
Saint-Cloud, where he feasted and rioted with his friends, and was
seized with a fever consequent upon his excesses, of which he died
a few days afterwards at the age of thirty-three. See _Mémoires de
Saint-Simon_.--_Trans._

[621] Unpublished despatch from Barbézieux to Saint-Mars. I reproduce
it word for word:--

  “At Versailles, the first of March, 1698.

 “I commence by offering you my condolence on the death of your
 brother-in-law, for which you will not doubt I am very sorry, both on
 account of his services and of my friendship for him.

 “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.

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.”

Our task is ended. Can it be a matter for regret that the chief and
necessary consequence of our researches has been to annihilate a
creature of fantasy with a particularly handsome countenance, of
lofty birth, and with an affecting destiny? Is not the charm of
truth superior to all others, and if it has been vouchsafed to us to
introduce it into these pages, if, into a question where, as we have
seen, everything was uncertainty, we have succeeded in throwing a
little fresh light, why should we fear to have finished by dissipating
that creation of popular imagination, that dubious and fanciful
being, who, it seems to us, ought not to excite so much interest
as he who has really lived, and whose existence we can follow step
by step? Whilst, in fact, an inevitable uncertainty must always be
mingled with the attraction exercised by the former, whilst the pity
and emotion experienced must ever be restrained by the impossibility
of proving even his birth; in the second case we are concerned with
a misfortune quite as great, and this time real, with an individual
much less eminent, but who has indeed existed, and who, condemned
like the former to an unjust punishment, has really lived, suffered,
and been persecuted. Wherefore, too, should one measure one’s pity
by the importance of those who deserve it? Are not all the victims
of arbitrary power equally worthy of interest, and does not the
persistence of misfortune raise the persecuted to the level of those
who are great by birth and by splendour of position? Fouquet in the
depths of his prison, separated from every one that he loves, but
finding in his Christian sentiments sufficient strength to overcome his
sorrow, seems to us a great deal more touching in his resignation than
interesting from the recollection of the splendid part he had played
in the court of Louis XIV. Matthioly also was torn from his family
and held a high position, but in a much less important court; he too
suffered the loneliness of captivity, and for him this loneliness was
lasting. His wife took refuge in a convent, and thus withdrew from a
world from which Louis XIV. had violently carried off her husband. His
family was dispersed, powerless, and silent, feeling itself threatened
as it were by the blow which had struck its chief. He dragged out
his existence in various prisons, proceeding from Pignerol to the
Isles Sainte-Marguerite, from these islands to the Bastille, sometimes
resigned, at others disordered by grief, and in his fits of madness
calling himself a near relation of Louis XIV., and for this reason
demanding his liberty. On November 19, 1703, his misfortunes terminated
with his life.

By a strange coincidence, at the very moment of Matthioly’s death, his
master, Charles IV., Duke of Mantua, arrived in Paris. But he--who had
abandoned himself more and more to Louis XIV., to whom he had sold one
of the keys of Italy, and had recently delivered up Mantua itself,
besides having several times permitted him to pass through his States
in order to invade the peninsula--was fêted as he deserved to be, and
was received as a true Frenchman. He descended at the Palace of the
Luxembourg, magnificently fitted up for him with the furniture of
the Crown. Seven tables were constantly served at the King’s expense
for the Duke and his suite, and brilliant fêtes were given him at
Meudon and Versailles, where he received from Louis XIV. a splendid
sword covered with diamonds.[651] It has been said[652] that it would
have been extremely imprudent to have inscribed Matthioly’s real
name upon the registers of Saint-Paul’s, at the date of the Duke’s
arrival in Paris, since the latter might thus have become acquainted
with his death. We know what kind of interest Charles IV. took in his
ex-confidant, and we have seen that he only troubled himself with
making sure of his positive disappearance. Instead, therefore, of the
fact of this death being concealed from him, it is very possible that he was made acquainted with it,
with the view of altogether dissipating his alarms. However this
may be, history presents some singular meetings, and reality often
surpasses in interest the most romantic fancies of the imagination. Of
the two individuals who had played the principal part in the cession of
Casale to Louis XIV., the Prince who had agreed to it contrary to his
duty, in order to obtain a little money and satisfy his prodigality,
was the object of gorgeous fêtes; while at the same moment, in the
same town, and only a short distance off, his ex-Minister, whom he
had created Senator and Count, who was allied to the most illustrious
families of his country, and who had once also been magnificently
received by Louis XIV. at Versailles, but who had afterwards for an
instant arrested the monarch’s overwhelming ambition and delayed
the servitude of Mantua, was dying far away from his friends, in a
little chamber of the Bastille, after a captivity of four-and-twenty
years; and the next day, at the fall of night, was obscurely borne to
the neighbouring church, followed only by two subordinate officials
belonging to the fortress.


FOOTNOTES:

[624] _Journal_, vol. i. p. 133.

[625] _Mémoires de Mademoiselle de Montpensier_, vol. iii. p. 225.

[626] _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol. xiii. p. 16.

[627] _Souvenirs de Madame de Caylus_.

[628] _Correspondance Administrative sous Louis XIV._, vol. ii. p. 571.
See also M. P. Clément, _La Police sous Louis XIV._, p. 89.

[629] Chapter XXIII., pp. 347, 348, _ante_.

[630] See Chap. XXIII., note 29, pp. 346, 347, _ante_.

[631] This mask would, however, have been of a different kind to that
which Matthioly was afterwards compelled to wear. The latter was
no doubt secured in such a way that it could not be removed by the
wearer.--_Trans._

[632] Despatch from Louvois to Saint-Mars, June 9, 1681.

[633] Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section Mantua,
27-29.

[634] Michelet.

[635] Chapter V., p. 62, _ante_.

[636] _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol. viii. p. 66.

[637] Dutens, in his _Correspondance Interceptée_, relates that “Louis
XV. said one day to the Duke de Choiseul, that he was acquainted with
the story of the masked prisoner. The Duke begged the King to tell
him what it was. But he could obtain no other reply save _that all
the conjectures as yet formed concerning this prisoner were mistaken
ones_.” As Madame Dubarry caused the Duke de Choiseul to be disgraced
in 1770, the conversation narrated must have taken place previous to
this date. Now it was only on June 28, 1770, that Baron d’Heiss was the
first person in France to advance, in a letter addressed to the authors
of the _Journal Encyclopédique_, as we have stated in Chapter xxi., p.
295, _ante_, the theory which makes Matthioly the Man with the Iron
Mask, and this letter was inserted in the part for August 15, 1770.
The abduction of Matthioly had been narrated at Leyden in 1687,[638]
but it was only in August, 1770, that the theory began to be known and
debated. Louis XV.’s reply to the Duke de Choiseul can therefore be
very well reconciled with the theory.

Dutens adds that some time afterwards Madame de Pompadour pressed the
King to give an explanation with reference to this subject, and that
Louis XV. told her that he believed _it was a minister of an Italian
prince_.

M. Giraud (of the Institute) has often heard Madame de Boigne relate
the following anecdote which he has given me authority to publish.
Madame de Boigne was the daughter of the Marquis d’Osmond, who held a
high position at the court of Louis XVI. In one of her conversations
with the Marquis, Madame Adelaide related the check which her curiosity
had received with reference to the Iron Mask. She had persuaded her
brother the Dauphin to question the King concerning this famous
prisoner, so that he might tell her the secret afterwards. The Dauphin
was then very young, and at the first word that he uttered, Louis XV.
inquired, smiling: “Who has charged you to ask me this question?” The
Dauphin acknowledged that it was his sister. The King refused to give a
complete answer, but observed that the secret had never been of great
importance, and at that time no longer possessed any interest.

The same anecdote has been related to us in almost identical words by
M. Guillaume Guizot, who also had it from Madame de Boigne.

In page 47 of the _Souvenirs du Baron de Gleichen_ recently published
by M. Grimblot, we read that the Duke de Choiseul had vainly made
researches among the Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, in
order to discover the secret of the Iron Mask. There is nothing very
surprising in this. These Archives contain all the documents that we
have reproduced or quoted, treating of Matthioly’s abduction. They also
contain, spread among a number of series and volumes, the despatches
which prove the evident interest that the Duke of Mantua had in the
definitive disappearance of his ex-confidant. But if these documents,
of which the greater portion were unpublished, have furnished me with
arguments for the support of the Matthioly theory, it is not in these
Archives but in those of the Ministry of War that I have discovered the
despatches which have enabled me to establish the complete agreement
between the individual carried off May 2, 1679, and the prisoner who
arrived at the Bastille with Saint-Mars, September 18, 1698, and died
there November 19, 1703. Researches made solely in the Archives of
the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, would have led to nothing. It was
necessary to make them in all the collections, and afterwards to
compare the various results, the combination of which alone enables us
to obtain a solution of the problem.

[638] In a work entitled _Histoire abrégée de l’Europe_, which, after
speaking of Matthioly’s proceedings with reference to the treaty for
the surrender of Casale and describing his capture and imprisonment,
goes on to say: “At Pignerol he was thought to be too near Italy,
and, though he was guarded very carefully, it was feared that the
walls might tell tales; he was therefore removed thence to the Isles
Sainte-Marguerite, where he is at present, under the care of M. de
Saint-Mars, the governor.”--_Trans._

[639] This objection has often been made.

[640] This is one of the points on which Father Griffet relies most of
all in order to prove the excessive importance of this prisoner. The
quotation which we have given from Dujonca’s notes, establishes the
fact that he was obliged to act thus for all the prisoners. But besides
these notes, as yet unpublished, the _Journal de Dujonca_ furnishes
several proofs of what we advance.

[641] We have given these notes in Chapter XIII. pp. 167-169, _ante_.

[642] Taulès was the first to put forward this objection.

[643] The reader will remember that this was Matthioly’s supposititious
name.

[644] Despatch from Catinat to Louvois, May 6, 1679. Given by Delort,
p. 214.

[645] The following is a literal translation of the entry in the
Register in question, a facsimile of which forms the frontispiece to
the present volume:--

“The 19th Marchialy aged forty-five years or about has died in the
bastile, whose body has been buried in the cemetery of st. Paul his
parish the 20th of the present [month] in the presence of Monsieur
Rosage major of the bastile and Mr. Reglhe surgeon-major of the bastile
who have signed.

  “ROSARGES.”      “REILHE.”

In _La Bastille Dévoilée_, a work of doubtful authenticity, as also in
the _Mélanges d’Histoire et de Littérature_ of Mr. Quintin Craufurd,
who professes to make the statement on the authority of M. Delaunay,
the unfortunate governor of the Bastille in the reign of Louis XVI.,
it is asserted that the prisoner “was buried in a winding-sheet of new
linen; and for the most part everything that was found in his chamber
was burnt, such as every part of his bed, including the mattresses, his
tables, chairs, and other utensils, which were all reduced to powder
and to cinders, and thrown into the drains. The rest of the things,
such as the silver, copper, and pewter, were melted. This prisoner
was lodged in the third chamber of the tower Bertaudière, which room
was scraped and filed quite to the stone, and fresh whitewashed from
the top to the bottom. The doors and windows were burnt like the
rest.”--_Trans._

[646] Dissertation on the Man with the Iron Mask, in his _Traité des
Différentes Sortes de Preuves_.

[647] _Mémoires de Mallet du Pan._

[648] The name is written in several ways. I have chosen the
orthography most generally adopted in the despatches. We find Matioli,
Matheoli, and Marthioly. [Also Mattioli, Matioly, and Matthioli. Louis
XIV. writes it indiscriminately Mathioly, Matthioli, and Matthioly--in
different ways even in the same despatch.--_Trans._]

[649] M. P. Clément quotes a curious example of this negligence in
his _Police sous Louis XIV._, p. 102, note 1. The correct name of the
Italian, accomplice of Sainte-Croix in the _Affaire des Poisons_, was
Egidio, but in the documents he is called Exili.

[650] Unpublished despatch:--Archives of the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs, section Savoy, 68. It is from this despatch that the motto of
the present work has been taken.

[651] _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol. iii. pp. 70, 108, 109.

[652] M. Jules Loiseleur, _Revue Contemporaine_, p. 236.


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