The Man in the Iron Mask Read online

  The page is torn at this point, and only the closing paragraph survives: “As a last resort, 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 honor to forward to 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…” He signed off at that point, assuring Barbezieux that he was his “very humble, very obedient, and very obliged servant.”

  Barbezieux read out this lengthy letter to Louis. The king listened with his usual attention to detail before expressing his satisfaction with the measures Saint-Mars was implementing. With nothing further to add, Louis merely recommended that the jailer continue to observe them.45

  From this point onward, the surviving letters become scarce, and those that have survived afford only the occasional glimpse behind the stone walls of the chambers in which Saint-Mars’s prisoners passed their long, tedious days.

  A letter written on November 17, 1697, from Barbezieux to Saint-Mars appears at first glance to be of little import, but in fact is worthy of consideration. It is written in reply to a note from Saint-Mars, who had forwarded a copy of a letter sent to him by Pontchartrain, successor to the marquis de Seignelay, concerning the prisoners of Sainte-Marguerite. Saint-Mars was disconcerted about this, hence his communication with the secretary.

  Barbezieux replied: “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 you old prisoner [that is, the ancien prisonnier] has done.”46

  Saint-Mars had been right to be concerned about Pontchartrain’s apparent interference. Pontchartrain held several posts in Louis XIV’s government. He was controller of finances, secretary of state for the navy and the king’s household, as well as minister of state in the Conseil d’en haut, or the council of ministers.47 He was a very important man; in the hierarchy of royal service, he ranked far above Barbezieux, who was only a secretary of state. When he inquired into the prisoners under Saint-Mars’s care, it was no surprise that the jailer, who answered only to the king and Barbezieux, should have been annoyed.

  As it happens, Pontchartrain’s inquiry was not as menacing as Saint-Mars had feared. Louis had ordered him to conduct a survey of the prisoners secretly held in various fortresses throughout the kingdom. He was about to sign the Peace of Ryswick, which would bring to an end the Nine Years’ War, and he wanted to identify those prisoners who had been held as spies with a view to releasing them.48 For the same reason, Barbezieux asked Saint-Mars to furnish him with the names and qualities of the prisoners under his care as well as what he knew about the crimes they had committed. This was so that Louis could better remember who these men were.49

  While, for some, the promise of freedom had suddenly become a real prospect, for Eustache, as he listened to the continual chanting that drifted into his chamber from his devout companions in captivity, life went on as it had done for the past twenty-nine years. So normal—and predictable—had life as a prisoner become, in fact, that it would be easy for him to imagine that there were no more surprises to come, that he had arrived at the final chapter of his story, where each featureless day blended into the next in a seamless stream that stretched across the weeks, the months, and the years. As it happened, he was wrong. For him, and for his jailer, there was yet one more chapter to come.

  ELEVEN The Bastille

  Once again, the fate of both Eustache and Saint-Mars was shaped by a death, this time, it was that of the marquis de Besmaux. François de Monlezun, marquis de Besmaux, had served as captain of the guards under Cardinal Mazarin before being awarded the governorship of the Bastille in 1658. He would maintain this post for almost forty years until his death on December 18, 1697, at the age of eighty-eight.

  A successor needed to be found. He had to be a man of integrity, respectable, and of proven ability, someone who had earned the right to govern a château as prestigious as the Bastille. Elie du Fresnoy, who had transferred his services to Barbezieux, put forward the name of his brother-in-law, Bénigne Dauvergne de Saint-Mars, as the most suitable candidate. While there was probably more than a touch of nepotism in this nomination, there was no doubting Saint-Mars’s ability and dedication to his work. He had earned his promotion.

  With the offer of this new governorship, history seemed to repeat itself for Saint-Mars. Just as he had done upon being offered the post at Exilles, he proved reluctant to accept the promotion to the governorship of the Bastille. At his age, he expected, perhaps even desired, to spend his sunset years in the home he had made for himself on Sainte-Marguerite. His wife, Marie-Antoinette, had died in 1691, and he hoped eventually to be laid to rest alongside her in the peaceful grounds of the monastery on the neighboring island of Saint-Honorat.1 Yet, he remained open to persuasion should the right circumstances arise—that is to say, if the financial rewards were attractive enough. He wrote to Barbezieux to open a discussion of the terms of the proposal, while his letter has not survived, the secretary’s reply makes it clear that Saint-Mars had asked about the revenues he could expect to receive should he take up the proffered governorship.

  As Barbezieux explained it,2 the revenues consisted of 15,168 livres on the estates of the king. In addition, Saint-Mars could expect to receive a further 6,000 livres from the shops that lined the road outside the château. The boats, which depended upon the governor for passage on the Seine, provided yet another source of income. The secretary went on to explain that, out of this money, the late Besmaux had been obliged to pay the sergeants and soldiers who guarded the prisoners. However, he was sure that Saint-Mars, who handled the expenses of his compagnie-franche, would be familiar with the sums involved.

  Barbezieux assured Saint-Mars that Louis would not force him to accept the post if he did not want it. Nevertheless, as he reminded the jailer, there was much profit to be made from the allowances the king awarded for the upkeep of the prisoners who would come under his care. In other words, Saint-Mars stood to make a respectable profit by skimming off money allocated by the king for the maintenance of the prisoners. Saint-Mars was certainly familiar with this practice, which had supplemented his income considerably throughout his career, and the news that he would not be prevented from continuing it was another mark in favor of accepting the post.

  As a final inducement, Barbezieux ventured to point out that Saint-Mars might find it agreeable to live in Paris, where he would have family and friends nearby. He closed by offering his opinion that Saint-Mars would find it very advantageous to take the governorship and that he would lose nothing should he move to Paris.

  It did not go unnoticed by Saint-Mars that Barbezieux’s lengthy and persuasive letter had one strange omission: the secretary had failed to make any reference to his ancien prisonnier. This contrasted markedly with the correspondence Saint-Mars had previously exchanged with Louvois. Specifically, Louvois was always insistent that Saint-Mars should take Eustache with him whenever he moved from one prison to another. Now Eustache is not even mentioned.

  It is possible that instructions regarding Eustache were given in another letter that has since been lost; however, under Louvois’s administration, Eustache had become closely associated with Saint-Mars, the destinies of the two men seemingly intertwined. This was not the case as far as Barbezieux was concerned. The new secretary seemed content to allow Eustache to remain on Sainte-Marguerite under the care of Rosarges, the lieutenant who assisted Saint-Mars in serving him on a regular basis. Saint-Mars was far from content with this and, as a result, took it upon himself to remind Barbezieux that he was the guardian of a long-term prisoner, a man he understood to be important enough to remain under his care. He suggested that this prisoner should accompany
him to the Bastille. The question, however, must be asked, to whom was Eustache important?

  At Pignerol, Saint-Mars had worked alongside important men, such as d’Estrades and Catinat. Later, when the families and friends of Foucquet and Lauzun were granted permission to visit their loved ones in prison, Saint-Mars found himself in the company of people of quality. Louvois even granted his request to be allowed to host these prestigious guests, and they, Foucquet and Lauzun, together with dignitaries from Pignerol, would dine at his table. In the company of people who came from a higher social class than his own, Saint-Mars could persuade himself that he too had entered the higher reaches of society.

  All this came crashing down when he was transferred to Exilles. Those from whom Saint-Mars had borrowed his reflected glory were gone. Foucquet was dead and Lauzun had been released, and their families and friends no longer honored him with their company.

  Yet, when Saint-Mars was transferred to the Île Sainte-Marguerite in 1687, Eustache appeared still to be very much a prisoner of consequence. Saint-Mars was ordered to ensure that the lodgings on the island were secure enough to hold him. This required him to journey to Sainte-Marguerite to see what work needed to be carried out in fulfilment of this order. Louvois sent detailed instructions regarding the prisoner’s security while Saint-Mars was away from Exilles.

  Saint-Mars may not have asked to be appointed jailer and governor of a state prison, but he had quickly settled into his new posting, and it was not long before he found that he could use it to his own advantage. Not only did he dip into the funds sent to him for the upkeep of his prisoners, he became famous, and since he could not go anywhere to spend his wages, he also grew very rich. He very much enjoyed the prestige that came with guarding two of the most renowned and eminent prisoners in France, Foucquet and Lauzun, which enhanced his standing and ego. When Foucquet died in 1680 and Lauzun was released a year later, Saint-Mars lost the two people who had provided the foundation of his own celebrity.

  Saint-Mars was almost certainly unaware of Eustache’s offense, but it is possible that he believed him to have been an important person. Certainly, Eustache had been described as “only a valet” and a “wretch,” and, as he would come to see, the measures for his prisoner’s security were not exceptional, but this man had been sent to him because Louis wanted him to be held in the most secure prison he had at his disposal and, of course, Saint-Mars was a most dedicated jailer.

  Saint-Mars, seeing that people were showing interest in his prisoners, put out contes jaunes, or fairy tales, to mock those who were eager to find out who it was that was concealed behind the impenetrable walls of the donjon. He may even have been behind the rumor that one of his prisoners, who was thought to have died, was in fact still living. The implication was that it was this prisoner who being was carried to Sainte-Marguerite with his face hidden within a steel mask, as reported in the article attributed to Louis Foucquet. If so, his strategy worked, for shortly after his arrival on the island, people were still talking about the mysterious prisoner in the keeping of M. de Saint-Mars.

  By May 8, 1698, Saint-Mars had made up his mind that he would take up the proffered posting. He wrote to Barbezieux requesting clarification regarding the practical matters arising from the transfer. Most important, he wanted to ensure that he could bring his ancien prisonnier with him.

  The secretary consulted Louis, but the king was busy with more pressing matters, particularly the suppression of the Quietist movement, a heresy that was spreading among some of the higher-ranking people in the capital and at court. The events occurring in faraway Sainte-Marguerite were of little concern at that moment. Barbezieux’s reply was delayed by a month, but when it arrived, it carried welcome news: “I shall tell you now that His Majesty has seen with pleasure that you are determined to come to the Bastille to be governor. You can arrange everything to be ready to leave when I shall write to you, and to bring with you, in all security, your ancien prisonnier.”3

  The following month, Barbezieux wrote once again, his letter dated July 19, 1698: “The king approves of your leaving the Île Sainte-Marguerite to come to the Bastille with your ancien prisonnier, taking your precautions to prevent his being seen or known by anyone. You can write in advance to His Majesty’s lieutenant of the château of the Bastille, to have a chamber ready to put this prisoner into upon your arrival.”4 This was very satisfactory to Saint-Mars.

  A chamber in the Bastille made a remarkable contrast to the dungeon Eustache had inhabited at Pignerol. There, he was hidden away inside an unpleasant isolated cell sealed behind three locked doors. At Exilles, he had lived in the Tour Grosse, a wonderfully secure structure where he and La Rivière had spent their days and nights detached from the world. Finally, he had occupied a spacious chamber on the island of Sainte-Marguerite, the largest and finest the state-of-the-art fortress had to offer, which was next to the governor’s apartments. Now he was once more to move into an ordinary chamber in the Bastille.

  Initially built to defend Paris against attack by the English, the Bastille stood at the eastern end of the rue Saint-Antoine in Paris. The first of its huge stones had been laid on April 22, 1307, by the mayor of Paris, Hugues Aubriot.5 It was a formidable building. Each of its eight towers soared almost one hundred feet into the Parisian sky, and they were joined together by curtain walls of the same height. A moat surrounded the entire structure, which in earlier days had been filled with water from the Seine; more recently, the moat had become a dry ditch.6

  The château was accessed on the side of the rue Saint-Antoine by a massive gateway, which was decorated with trophies of war, and which led to two courtyards within. During the early part of the 17th century, a small village began to form when enterprising merchants opened up shop outside this gateway. They sold everything from wine to poultry and cheese. There were barbers and cobblers, and others who supplied everyday necessities. As the century wore on, the village grew in size, stretching along the rue Saint-Antoine as far as the convent of the Visitation. The shops attracted people from all over the neighboring area, and although merchants and customers alike were free to come and go as they pleased, they were closely watched by the soldiers based at the château, and anyone thought to be loitering was hastily moved on.7

  As each new prisoner arrived, they would enter the first of the inner courtyards, where the governor would emerge from his lodgings to receive them. This courtyard also contained the apartments of the governor’s staff, which were ranged alongside the armory. The prisoner might look up to see a large clock, which had been installed by d’Argenson, the chief of police. Its face was supported by chained figures as a reminder that, notwithstanding the bustling commerce that went on during the day, this was a place where people were held captive. The reminder was necessary because, for much of its early existence, the Bastille had not been a prison, but a well-appointed château guarding the eastern edge of Paris. It was not until the reign of Charles VI8 that it was occasionally used to hold prisoners; but even then, it continued to serve as a luxurious lodging for passing dignitaries, while various kings would hold fetes and other court entertainments there.

  It was not until the time of Cardinal Richelieu, who had served as first minister to Louis XIII in the first half of the 17th century, that the Bastille began to be used regularly as a royal or state prison. It was now reserved for “those who have committed a crime or misdemeanor not provided for by the common law,” or for people who were considered to be “too conspicuous to be punished for a crime at common law on equal terms with the ordinary malefactor, and for whom it would appear inevitable that an exceptional prison should be reserved.”9

  It was also under Richelieu that the administration of the Bastille was first entrusted to someone who might be described as a professional jailer, rather than a member of the aristocracy or a military officer as had previously been the case. The first jailer to hold the governorship was Leclerc du Tremblay, the brother of Père Joseph, Richelieu’s éminence gris
e.

  For most of the 17th century, the Bastille would hold little fear for the ordinary citizen of France: the Châtelet was more a source of dread for them. The Bastille, reserved for the aristocracy, was seen to be too good for the peasantry, and those who annoyed the king or who had disgraced their families in some way were sent there to cool their heels. Under Louis XIV, the number of people admitted as prisoners to the Bastille averaged only thirty each year.10

  Probably because of their status, and the expectation that the nobility would know how to behave and would act honorably even while imprisoned, there was very little in the way of security. As such, even though a prison, the Bastille continued to be a comfortable, even cozy place to be. The chambers within were arranged like any other château, which the prisoner would furnish according to his or her means and tastes.11

  Prisoners could hear what went on in each other’s rooms and talk to each other through the walls of their chambers or through the fireplaces. They were allowed to entertain guests from outside or visit fellow prisoners. Some were permitted to bring their mistresses into their chambers; others were granted permission to leave the château during the day, as long as they returned to their chambers as night fell. Now, in the autumn of 1698, the keys to the Château de la Bastille were to be placed into the hands of Bénigne Dauvergne de Saint-Mars.

  Saint-Mars had detailed his plans for the conduct of Eustache to his new prison in a letter to Barbezieux. Dutifully the secretary read this out to the king, who, as the secretary noted, “approves and sees fit that you should leave with him, and as I have sent word in a previous letter, which I have no doubt you will receive presently.” He then conveyed Louis’s reply to Saint-Mars’s request for secure accommodation to be provided along the road to Paris: the king did not think it necessary. Instead, Saint-Mars was told: “It will suffice that you lodge, paying, as conveniently and securely as possible, in places you judge appropriate to stay.”12