The Man in the Iron Mask Read online

  As it is, each of the theories that make Eustache Dauger de Cavoye the Man in the Iron Mask fall in the face of the historical record. More damning still is that, at the time Duvivier, Furneaux, and Mast place him inside Pignerol, the real Eustache Dauger was languishing in Saint-Lazare. This institution, originally a hospital for lepers, had, by the second quarter of the 17th century, been used to confine people who had become a liability to their families. Eustache de Cavoye had been held there since January 1668, when his brother, Louis, obtained an order for his arrest for nonpayment of a debt.

  Eustache sent several letters to his sister, Henriette, to explain how he had ended up in Saint-Lazare. Ten years later, he was still there, and, on January 23, 1678, he wrote again to Henriette begging her to help secure his release. He reproached his brother for having put him away and for keeping him there all these years. Louis de Cavoye had been the architect of Eustache’s misery. Eustache would never be freed. He died from the effects of alcoholism at Saint-Lazare in about 1680. A fellow inmate, Brienne, wrote an elegy for his friend, and he was the only one to have mourned his passing.8 Eustache Dauger de Cavoye was not the Man in the Iron Mask.

  The true identity of the Man in the Iron Mask is no longer a mystery. His prison career can be followed in original sources, particularly the letters that were exchanged between the marquis de Louvois and Bénigne Dauvergne de Saint-Mars, and the occasional communication sent by Louis XIV.

  The prisoner has been referred to throughout this book as Eustache. As it is written on the original letter de cachet, his name is given as Eustache, but what appears to be his surname is disputed, with some scholars reading it as Dauger, with a u, and others as Danger, with an n. In the letter in which he warned Saint-Mars to prepare for the arrival of a new prisoner, Louvois gave the prisoner’s name as Eustache d’Auger, and this, or more usually the variant Dauger, is the name by which this mysterious man has been best known ever since.

  However, Eustache’s name would have several variations in the official correspondence as time went on: Eustache Danger (February 15, 1679), Dangers (September 13, 1679), d’Angers (April 8, 1680), or even simply ‘the man Eustache (December 23, 1678; January 20, 1680; July 10, 1680). In his paper presented at a colloquium at Pignerol in 1987, historian Bernard Caire convincingly demonstrated that the prisoner’s name was Danger, Dangers, or d’Angers.9 Variants of this name occur most frequently in the correspondence, and it could be that it refers to the prisoner’s place of birth or the town with which he is most associated, implying that Eustache was actually a surname.10 This is by no means implausible, since serving men were usually known and addressed by their surnames, such as La Forêt, Champagne, and La Rivière, all of whom had served Foucquet, or Matthioli’s valet, Rousseau.

  It can be accepted, then, that the prisoner’s real name was Eustache. Louis XIV, as we have seen, signed the letter de cachet authorizing the arrest of a man of that name. That the name was not written into the minutes from which the three letters sent to Vauroy, Saint-Mars, and the marquis de Piennes respectively were prepared is sometimes interpreted as evidence of a cover-up. However, had Eustache been arrested under a false name, such a precaution would not have been necessary, as Petitfils points out.11

  In due course, Eustache would lose his name altogether and would be referred to as one of the messieurs de la Tour d’en bas or as one of Saint-Mars’s merles. Later still, he would be known as the ancien prisonnier or as Saint-Mars liked to call him, mon prisonnier.

  As to Eustache’s age, the burial register of the Bastille states that he was forty-five years old or thereabouts at the time of his death. This would mean that he entered Pignerol at about the age of eleven. Clearly, his exact age could not be known, but was this register entry part of an attempt at a cover-up, or was it simply a mistake? Had Eustache indeed entered Pignerol at the age of eleven, it would come close to the story told to Renneville, which had it that the prisoner had entered Pignerol as a schoolboy of twelve or thirteen years of age for having written two verses against the Jesuits. This almost certainly originated with Saint-Mars, who was known to spread such stories in an attempt to confound and mock the inquisitive.

  By contrast, the apothecary at the Bastille who spoke to Eustache a few days before he died reported that Eustache had told him that he thought he was about sixty years old. This would have made him twenty-six years old at the time of his arrest. This is all the more believable, for had he been imprisoned as a child, he would have been about seventeen when he was placed with Foucquet; while this is not impossible, he would have been very young to hold such responsibility.

  In his discussion of the story of the Man in the Iron Mask, Rupert Furneaux speaks of the special interest taken by Louvois and Louis in the welfare and security of this one particular prisoner.12 Similarly, Voltaire wonders why this man should be subjected to such unheard-of precautions. In answer, it should be noted that the security precautions that were applied to Eustache were not entirely unheard of, nor were they unique to him. Indeed, such measures would be employed for most of the prisoners sent to Saint-Mars at Pignerol.

  As he escorted Eustache to Pignerol, Captain Vauroy received no special order to hide his prisoner’s face or to otherwise conceal his identity. Eustache was not heavily guarded on his lengthy journey through France, across the Alps, and into Northern Italy. He was escorted instead by Vauroy and a small group of men using regular roads and stopping at post-houses each night. This is in marked contrast to the journeys made by Foucquet and Lauzun, both of whom were escorted by a large company of musketeers under the command of d’Artagnan, who was required to find, often with difficulty, secure lodgings for his prisoners.

  As he received Eustache at Pignerol, Saint-Mars, obeying orders, imprisoned him alone in a temporary cell until the one in which he was to be lodged was ready to receive him. Eustache, once transferred into his isolated cell, was shut away behind three sets of doors, where Saint-Mars could ensure that no one would hear whatever he might have to say. Saint-Mars was told to restrict his visits to the prisoner to one each day, during which he was to bring him whatever food he needed for that day. He was also authorized to kill the prisoner if he spoke of anything other than his needs.

  These apparently excessive precautions were imposed in order to ensure that no one beyond the impenetrable walls of his cell could hear Eustache should he attempt to give away any information about what he had done prior to his imprisonment. This was clearly an important consideration, but the necessity for such precautions could also have stemmed from Eustache’s social status. He was not nobility, so he would have no valet to keep an eye on him. Once again, this contrasts with the security used for Foucquet and Lauzun; they were served by valets, who spied on their master and each other. As seen in the case of La Rivière, the consequences of not doing so were serious.

  One noteworthy feature regarding Eustache’s security is that, during the time he was serving as Foucquet’s valet, he was allowed to mix with people who came into his master’s prison apartment. Louvois even left it to Saint-Mars to arrange with Foucquet “as you judge appropriate, regarding the security of the person named Eustache Danger, recommending you above all, to see to it that he speaks to no one in private.”13 Eustache could associate with Foucquet’s guests, but he was not allowed to speak to anyone privately.

  When the security arrangements for each of the prisoners of Pignerol are compared, we note that the apparently excessive precautions surrounding Eustache were the norm. Saint-Mars was ordered to hold Butticari under “good and sure guard” and cut off from all communication. Lapierre was to be treated in the same manner as Eustache, subject to harsh and unpleasant conditions. Lapierre, Louvois assured Saint-Mars, could not be treated badly enough. Later, when Matthioli arrived, Saint-Mars was ordered to guard him “in a manner, that not only he may not have communication with any one, but that also he may have cause to repent of his bad conduct; and that it may not be discovered that you have a new pris
oner.”14 Moreover, unlike Eustache, Matthioli was hidden behind a further layer of security: a false prison name, Lestang. This was not in itself necessarily significant, since prisoners were sometimes assigned false names, and it was not unheard of for these names, and the prisoners who bore them, to be forgotten. While Matthioli appears to have been treated “very kindly in all that regards cleanliness and food,”15 he was also allowed to have his own valet in prison with him. This was probably because of his noble birth as well as his former status as a diplomat in the service of the duke of Mantua. His valet, Rousseau, was imprisoned because he was privy to his master’s secrets. As with all the prisoners of Pignerol, however, vigorous efforts were made to prevent Matthioli having communication with anyone.

  Such measures continued on the Île Sainte-Marguerite. The protestant minister Cardel was described by Louvois as “a man deserving of death and who could not be treated too severely.”16 Saint-Mars was required to take “all necessary precautions so that no one knows that he is in your hands.” Saint-Mars was also ordered to send Louvois monthly updates about Cardel’s behavior, although requests for such information concerning the prisoners appears to have been standard. When Cardel became ill and needed to be bled, Saint-Mars was told that he could arrange for a surgeon to come to the island to perform the procedure in his presence, “taking all necessary precautions that the surgeon does not know who [the prisoner] is.”17

  When more new arrivals came to Sainte-Marguerite, they were to be kept in separate cells and Saint-Mars had to ensure that they could not communicate, whether by word of mouth or in writing. Later, when Matthioli died shortly after his arrival on the island, Louvois ordered Saint-Mars to put his servant, Rousseau, into the vaulted prison with the usual precaution that the man could not communicate in any way with the outside world.18 If Eustache’s treatment seemed unusual in the earliest days of his imprisonment, it came to be standard practice shortly afterward. In each case, Saint-Mars accepted without question his orders regarding the security of those in his charge, suggesting that he thought it to be the normal procedure to be taken with state prisoners.

  The salient point of Eustache’s story and the foundation of the legend that grew up about him is the mask he was apparently forced to wear. Accounts disagree regarding the material of which it was made, whether steel, iron, or black velvet.

  The mask captured the imagination of the second duchesse d’Orléans, whose letter implies that the prisoner was masked at all times: “He ate and slept masked,” she stated, adding that the two musketeers were on hand to shoot him if he ever tried to remove it.

  By contrast, when he came to write his memoir of his time as a prisoner at the Bastille, Renneville made no mention that the mysterious man he had encountered wore a mask. However, what he had taken to be black hair without a hint of gray could have been a mask or hood of black velvet, while what he had interpreted as a ponytail could have been the knot tied back of the man’s head.

  Much later, as he wrote a history of Louis XIV’s reign, Voltaire referred to the prisoner as “the man in the iron mask,” but there is no evidence to support any assertion that the mask was made of this material. Indeed, Voltaire himself described it as “a mask, the chin-piece of which had steel springs to enable [the prisoner] to eat while wearing it.” Of course, a mask made of velvet would surely not have required such modification.

  Palteau noted that he first heard that the mask was made of iron from Voltaire’s account. He mentions the mask four times in his letter: “the masked man arrived”; “ate with his mask on”; “black mask over his face”; “that of the masked man.” Perhaps he did indeed capture the accurate recollections of the peasants of Palteau, who were struck by the sight of this curious figure. However, the mask they described was said to have covered the upper portion of the wearer’s face, which suggests that it was a loo mask. These were masks of black velvet, most usually worn by ladies to protect their delicate complexions from the sun, that covered the area around the eyes and the upper cheeks but not the mouth. Mme de Campan also spoke of a velvet mask, comparing it to those worn by Italian men and women.

  The mask enhances the mystery that surrounds the prisoner and adds an element of horror to any narrative of his incarceration, but where did it originate? There is a historical precedent, a story linking a mask and the Bastille. According to Gatien Courtilz de Sandras, the marquis de Besmaux, who was Saint-Mars’s predecessor as governor of the Bastille, was so jealous of his wife’s beauty that he bought her “one of the biggest masks in Paris with a large face-cloth, and obliged her always to wear it upon her face.”19 Elsewhere, we have seen that the chevalier de Mouhy mentions shocking accounts of people being made to wear iron masks in the introduction to his romance. Masks, and particularly those made of iron, had already entered the realm of the public imagination.

  In Eustache’s case, the situation was different. As has been seen, Captain Vauroy received no instructions to cover his prisoner’s face or to otherwise conceal his identity. Once in prison, there was no reason to hide Eustache’s face because no one at Pignerol nor any of the other prisons in which he was held knew who he was. Any physicians who tended him or priests who took his confessions could look upon his face: here, the only concern was that he should not have an opportunity to tell whatever secret he might have been keeping. Similarly, when Eustache was allowed to walk on the citadel walls with Foucquet, he was not required to cover his face. Later, when he encountered Foucquet’s wife and family, and other guests, there was no mention of his being made to wear a mask. It would certainly have been noted and commented upon had he had done so.

  In the letter attributed to Louis Foucquet that was written during the prisoner’s own lifetime, the man being transported to Sainte-Marguerite was said to have been wearing a mask made of steel. This, as far as is known, is the first reference to the now secret prisoner having been made to wear a mask of any description. There is only one other contemporary reference to a mask, and it comes from Etienne Du Junca, who stated that the prisoner who arrived at the Bastille in September 1698 was always masked. Five years after this, when he recorded the prisoner’s death, Du Junca noted again that the prisoner was always masked, adding that the mask was made not of steel, but of black velvet.

  While a prisoner in the Bastille, and contrary to Du Junca’s assertions, Eustache was required to wear the mask only when he could be seen by others, not when he was in his cell, where he was seen only by Saint-Mars and Rosarges. The mask was important because it covered Eustache’s face and concealed his identity, but it also attracted attention to him. This was a deliberate ploy by Saint-Mars and part of his effort to make people believe that his prisoner was a man of consequence. By extension, Saint-Mars would share in Eustache’s prestige and bask in the full light of his fame as he had done with Foucquet, Lauzun, and, to some extent, Matthioli. The mask was one element in a story that grew in the telling, a terrifying legend to capture the imagination today as it had done in the prisoner’s own time.

  Aside from the mask, the greatest mystery surrounding Eustache is the reason for his imprisonment. What could this man have done to deserve being sent to prison for the rest of his life? In the letter he sent to Saint-Mars, Louis stated that he was “dissatisfied with the behavior” of Eustache. This does not reveal very much; but, of course, the king was not obliged to explain his reasons to anyone.

  In order to understand Eustache’s story, it is necessary to place it in its correct historical context. The prisoner who would come to be known as the Man in the Iron Mask was arrested at Calais in July 1669. He was French and, therefore, one of Louis XIV’s subjects. Had he not been, his seizure would have ignited the threat of a diplomatic incident, as would later occur in the case of Matthioli. That masses were said for him and priests took his confession shows that he was Catholic. This much can easily be gleaned from the extant documents. His occupation and how he might have been employed prior to his imprisonment is not so straightforward, b
ut it is crucial if his story is to be understood.

  That Eustache was allowed a book of prayers has inspired some historians to believe that he might have been a priest, thinking that only members of the clergy would be allowed to read prayer books. However, other prisoners were allowed books of prayers, which would be used by them and their valets,20 while Foucquet was given a Bible.

  Louvois describes Eustache as “only a valet,” thereby revealing both his occupation and his social status. Ambelain21 argues that had Eustache been a servant from the lower social classes, Louvois would more likely have referred to him as a laquais, or lackey. He did not; he specifically described him as a valet. Ambelain goes on to explain that while a valet would usually occupy a slightly more elevated position in the hierarchy of the serving class, he was still a servant, and this accounts for the cheap furniture he was given. By the time of his transfer to Sainte-Marguerite from Exilles, his bed, table linen, and furniture was so old and worn out that Saint-Mars thought “it was not worth the trouble of bringing it here; they sold for only thirteen écus.”22 Eustache, therefore, while not high-born himself, he might best be described as a gentleman’s gentleman. Ambelain is keen to point out, however, that for a gentleman to act as a valet was not necessarily to dishonor him, for much depended upon whom he worked for.