The Man With The Iron Mask


In the year 1662, the first year of the absolute reign of Louis XIV.,

there occurred an event without parallel in history, and which still

remains shrouded in the mystery in which it was from the first involved.

There was sent with the utmost secrecy to the Chateau of Pignerol an

unknown prisoner, whose identity was kept secret with the most extreme

care. All that can be said of him is that he was young, well-formed and

attractive in appearance, and above the usual stature. As for his face,

whether it were handsome or ill-favored, noble or base, no man could

say, for it was concealed by an impenetrable mask, the lower portion of

which was made movable by steel springs, so that he could eat with it

on, while the upper portion was immovably fixed.



This mysterious state prisoner remained for a number of years at

Pignerol, under charge of its governor, M. de Saint Mars, an officer of

the greatest discretion and trustworthiness. He was afterwards removed

to the castle of the Isle of Sainte Marguerite, on the coast of

Provence, where he remained for years in the same mysterious seclusion,

an object of the greatest curiosity on the part of all the people of the

prison, and of no less interest to the people of the kingdom, to whose

love of the marvellous the secrecy surrounding him appealed. The mask

was never removed, day or night, so far as any one could learn, while

conjecture sought in vain to discover who this mysterious personage

could be.



This much was certain, no person of leading importance had disappeared

from Europe in the year 1662. On the other hand, the masked prisoner was

treated with a consideration which could be looked for only by persons

of the highest birth. The Marquis of Louvois, minister of war under the

"Grand Monarque," was said to have visited him at Sainte Marguerite, and

to have treated him with the respect due to one of royal birth. He spoke

to him standing, as to one far his superior in station, and showed him

throughout the interview the greatest deference.



In 1698, M. de Saint Mars was made governor of the Bastille. He brought

with him this mysterious masked prisoner, whose secret it was apparently

not deemed advisable to intrust to a new governor of Sainte Marguerite.

As to what took place on the journey, we have some interesting details

in a letter from M. de Formanoir, grand nephew of Saint Mars.



"In 1698, M. de Saint Mars exchanged the governorship of the islands

[Sainte Marguerite and Sainte Honnat] for that of the Bastille. When he

set out to enter on his new office he stayed with his prisoner for a

short time at Palteau, his estate. The mask arrived in a litter which

preceded that of M. de Saint Mars; they were accompanied by several men

on horseback. The peasants went out to meet their seigneur. M. de Saint

Mars took his meals with his prisoner, who sat with his back towards the

windows of the room, which looked into the court-yard. The peasants of

whom I made inquiry could not see if he had his mask on when eating; but

they observed that M. de Saint Mars, who sat opposite to him at table,

had a pair of pistols beside his plate. They were attended by a single

valet only, Antoine Ru, who took away the dishes set down to him in an

antechamber, having first carefully shut the door of the dining-room.

When the prisoner crossed the court-yard a black mask was always on his

face."



The extreme caution here indicated was continued until the prisoner

reached the Bastille. With regard to his life in this fortress we are

better informed, since it must be acknowledged that the record of his

previous prison life is somewhat obscure. All that seems well

established is that he was one of the "two prisoners of the Lower Tower"

at Pignerol, in 1681; that he was spoken of to Saint Mars as "your

ancient prisoner," and "your prisoner of twenty years' standing;" that

in 1687 he was removed from Exiles to Sainte Marguerite with the same

care and secrecy observed in the journey to the Bastille, his jailer

accompanying him to the new prison, and that throughout he was under the

care of the relentless Saint Mars.



Of the life of this remarkable state prisoner in the Bastille we have

more detailed accounts. Dujunca, the chief turnkey of that prison, has

left a journal, which contains the following entry: "On Thursday, the

18th September, 1698, at three o'clock in the afternoon, M. de Saint

Mars, the governor, arrived at the Bastille for the first time from the

islands of Sainte Marguerite and Sainte Honnat. He brought with him in

his own litter an ancient prisoner formerly under his care at Pignerol,

and whose name remains untold. This prisoner was always kept masked, and

was at first lodged in the Basiniere tower.... I conducted him

afterwards to the Bertaudiere tower, and put him in a room, which, by

order of M. de Saint Mars, I had furnished before his arrival."



Throughout the life of this mysterious personage in the Bastille, the

secrecy which had so far environed him was rigidly observed. So far as

is known, no one ever saw him without his mask. Aside from this, and his

detention, everything that could be was done to make his life enjoyable.

He was given the best accommodation the Bastille afforded. Nothing that

he desired was refused him. He had a strong taste for lace and linen of

extreme fineness, and his wishes in this particular were complied with.

His table was always served in the most elegant manner, while the

governor, who frequently attended him, seldom sat in his presence.



During his intervals of ailment he was attended by the old doctor of the

Bastille, who, while often examining his tongue and parts of his body,

never saw his face. He represents him as very finely shaped, and of

somewhat brownish complexion, with an agreeable and engaging voice. He

never complained, nor gave any hint as to who he was, and throughout his

whole prison life no one gained the least clue to his identity. The only

instance in which he attempted to make himself known is described by

Voltaire, who tells us that while at Sainte Marguerite he threw out from

the grated window of his cell a piece of fine linen, and a silver plate

on which he had traced some strange characters. This, however, is an

unauthenticated story.



The detention of this mysterious prisoner in the Bastille was not an

extended one. He died in 1703. Dujunca's journal tells the story of his

death. "On Monday, the 19th of November, 1703, the unknown prisoner, who

had continually worn a black velvet mask, and whom M. de Saint Mars had

brought with him from the island of Sainte Marguerite, died to-day at

about ten o'clock in the evening, having been yesterday taken slightly

ill. He had been a long time in M. de Saint Mars' hands, and his illness

was exceedingly trifling."



There is one particular of interest in this record. The "iron mask"

appears to have been really a mask of black velvet, the only iron about

it being the springs, which permitted the lower part to be lifted.



The question now arises, Who was the "man with the iron mask"? It is a

question which has been long debated, without definite conclusion.

Chamillard was the last minister of Louis XIV. who knew this secret.

When he was dying, his son-in-law, Marshal de Feuillade, begged him on

his knees to reveal the mystery. He begged in vain. Chamillard answered

that it was a secret of state, which he had sworn never to reveal, and

he died with it untold.



Voltaire, in his "Age of Louis XIV.," was the first to call special

attention to this mystery, and since then numerous conjectures have been

made as to who the Iron Mask really was. One writer has suggested that

he was an illegitimate son of Anne of Austria, the queen-mother. Another

identifies him with a supposed twin brother of Louis XIV., whose birth

Richelieu had concealed. Others make him the Count of Vermandois, an

illegitimate son of Louis XIV.; the Duke of Beaufort, a hero of the

Fronde; the Duke of Monmouth, the English pretender of 1685; Fouquet,

Louis's disgraced minister of finance; a son of Cromwell, the English

protector; and various other wild and unfounded guesses. After all has

been said, the identity of the prisoner remains unknown. Mattioli, a

diplomatic agent of the Duke of Mantua, who was long imprisoned at

Pignerol and at Sainte Marguerite, was for a long time generally thought

to be the Iron Mask, but there is good reason to believe that he died in

1694.



Conjecture has exhausted itself, and yet the identity of this strange

captive remains a mystery, and is likely always to continue so. The

fact that all the exalted personages of the day can be traced renders it

probable that the veiled prisoner was really an obscure individual, whom

the caprice of Louis XIV. surrounded with conditions intended to excite

the curiosity of the public. There are on record other instances of

imprisonment under similar conditions of inviolate secrecy, and it is

not impossible that the king may have endeavored, for no purpose higher

than whim, to surround the story of this one with unbroken mystery. If

such were his purpose it has succeeded, for there is no more mysterious

person in history than the Man with the Iron Mask.



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