The Death of the Man in the Iron Mask

19 November 1703: The prisoner who was soon to become known to the world as The Man in the Iron Mask died at the Bastille. His passing was recorded by Etienne Du Junca, lieutenant du roi at the Bastille, who met this man upon his arrival and escorted him to the chamber he was to occupy for a short while. Du Junca never learned the man's name, nor did he know why he had been imprisoned.

Du Junca kept two private registers: in the first he recorded those who entered the Bastille; in the second he recorded those who left, either by being freed or by dying. His entry for the mysterious prisoner, who had long ago lost his name and his identity, reads:

'Monday 19 November 1703, the prisoner, unknown, always masked with a mask of black velvet, whom Monsieur de St Mars governor had brought with him upon coming from the isles St Marguerite whom he had guarded for a long time, the which feeling a little unwell yesterday upon leaving mass, he died today at ten o’clock in the evening without having had a serious illness; it could not have been more slight. M. Giraut our almoner confessed him yesterday is surprised by his death. He did not receive the sacraments, and our almoner exhorted him a moment before he died, and this unknown prisoner kept here for so long, was buried on Tuesday at four o’clock in the afternoon, 20 November in the cemetery of St Paul our parish. On the register of burial he was given a name also unknown; that Monsieur de Rosarges major and Arriel [sic] surgeon who have signed the register.'

In the margin, Du Junca added: ‘I have since learned that they named him on the register M de Marchiel; that they paid 40 livres for the funeral.'

The prisoner was indeed buried on 20 November 1703 in the churchyard of Saint-Paul-des-Champs. This was, as Du Junca noted, the parish church which served the Bastille, Situated on what is today the corner of the rue Saint-Paul and rue Neuve Saint-Pierre, it was closed in 1790 and its register was destroyed in a fire set by the Communards in May 1871. Happily, the register's contents had already been copied by historians. The entry for the Iron Mask's burial read:


'On the 19th [November], Marchioly, aged 45 years or thereabouts, died at the Bastille, whose body was buried in the churchyard of St. Paul, his parish, the 20th of the present month, in the presence of M. Reglhe [sic], surgeon major of the Bastille, who signed.’


It was then signed by Rosarges and Reilhe.

The Trial of Nicolas Foucquet Opens

Still: Le Roi, l'Écureuil et la Couleuvre

On 13 November 1664, Charles de Batz Castelmore, comte d'Artagnan, captain-lieutenant of the musketeers, entered a finely appointed chamber in the Bastille. He found Nicolas Foucquet sitting by the fire reading a book. Foucquet looked up and saw the man who had arrested him three years previously, a man who had since become his gaoler, his confidant and his friend. As the musketeer approached, Foucquet gave him a wan smile and announced that he was ready to face his judges. 

On the following day Nicolas Foucquet walked into the Arsenal in Paris as the first day of his trial was about to begin. He wore a simple black suit with a white collar and he sat down, not without protest, on the small wooden sallette that had been set out for him. Again under protest, he eventually took the oath. He did not recognise the jurisdiction of the chambre de justice and had taken the oath so that he could clarify points he had made over the past three years in his written defences.

Stills: 'Secrets d'Histoire: le soleil offusqué'

Foucquet was a brilliant magistrate. He habitually wore the long black robes of his office, and he apologised to the chamber for not appearing before them appropriately dressed. He had asked for his robes, he told them, but his request had been refused.


Over the next few weeks, he would expose the holes in the prosecution's case as he ably defended himself against a panel of judges that was packed against him, mainly with relatives and supporters of Colbert. The stakes were incredibly high. The king had made it clear that he wished and expected Foucquet to lose so that his former minister could be sentenced to death.

The Ghostly Origins of The Wicked Lady

The story of the Wicked Lady originated as a piece of folklore associated with the Hertfordshire manor of Markyate Cell. In the film The Wicked Lady, Barbara, played by Margaret Lockwood, takes to the road as a highwaywoman after marrying the stable but dull owner of Maryiot Cells. Joining forces with the highwayman, ‘Lucky’ Jerry Jackson, played by James Mason, she embarks on a spree of theft and violence which ultimately leads to her own demise.

The film is based upon the novel The Life and Death of the Wicked Lady Skelton by Magdalen King-Hall, who found her inspiration in a book of ghosts and folklore by Christina Hole, entitled Haunted England. In it, Hole relates the story of the ‘wicked’ Lady Ferrers, whose spirit is said to haunt Markyate Cell, near Dunstable. Like her film counterpart, Lady Ferrers took to the road not out of a need for money, but driven by boredom and the desire for excitement and power. As night approached, she would dress in masculine clothing and leave the house by a secret door, riding abroad on a coal black horse with white socks. Making her way to nearby Watling Street, she would waylay unsuspecting travellers, relieve them of their valuables and kill anyone who offered resistance. One of her methods was to hide in a tree and jump onto passing coaches and carriages, which she would rob before the occupants knew what was going on. Although it is probable that no-one in the household knew of Lady Ferrers’s nocturnal activities, if anyone in the nearby village had their suspicions, they had the good sense to remain quiet.

Lady Ferrers was said to have had used a special, secret room, which she reached by a staircase concealed within the kitchen chimney. One night, as she was going about her infamous business, she was wounded in a fight and, seriously injured, she made her way back to this secret room only to die at the foot of the staircase.

Lady Ferrers’s spirit did not rest in peace for long. Her shade has sometimes been seen lurking by a tree, beneath which she was said to have stashed her ill-gotten gains. Other have seen her riding on the road, while yet others have glimpsed her near the kitchen chimney. She was usually blamed for whatever misfortunes occurred in the house, including no less than three serious fires.
According to Hole, during the 1870s, the then owner of Markyate Cell, Mr Daniel Adye, discovered a bricked-up doorway in the chimney while repairs were being done at the house. The workmen, all of whom were local, were aware of the tale of the Wicked Lady and refused to do any further work at the house, so that Mr Adye was obliged to recruit workers from London in order to continue the repairs, and at last the door was opened. There was a staircase behind it, which led to an empty room closed by a heavy oaken door. The workmen claimed to have heard sighs and groans, which could not be accounted for and as they made their way back to their lodgings that night, they saw the ghost of a beautiful woman swinging from a branch of a ‘haunted’ tree.

As for Lady Ferrers, she does not appear to have been too disturbed that her hiding place had been discovered. Her spirit continued to be seen on occasion, including a tea party held in the local parish.

So much for tradition, but who was Lady Ferrers, and how did she become associated with the Wicked Lady ? Lady Ferrers was born Catherine Ferrers on 4 May 1634 at Markyate Cell near Dunstable, to Knighton Ferrers and his wife, Catherine. Following the death of her two brothers, Catherine became the sole heir to both her father and grandfather. Upon the death of her father, her mother married Simon Fanshawe, but died shortly afterwards. Catherine became the ward of the Fanshawes whose Royalist sympathies during the Civil War led to the sequestration of their property and devastating financial difficulties. However, the wealth Catherine had inherited from her family made her an attractive proposition, and she was married at the age of thirteen to Simon Fanshawe’s nephew, Thomas. Due to the youth of both parties, the couple did not live together straightaway, but when Thomas came of age, he inherited his family’s estate, Ware Park, in exchange for Catherine’s inheritance, including Markyate Cell, which was used to settle the debts incurred by the Fanshawe family. Catherine and Thomas continued to live at Ware Park, however, his admittance to the Middle Temple in 1657, and his imprisonment in the Tower for his implication in a rebellion two years later, meant that Catherine spent much of her time alone in the country.

The idea of Catherine as a neglected wife, and the misuse of her inheritance by her in-laws, led to her association with local legends concerning a bored and neglected lady who took to the road as a highwaywoman. A story spread abroad that Lady Catherine met Ralph Chaplin, who was a farmer by day and a highwayman by night. He taught her the skills a successful highwaywoman would need, and they set out on a spree of crime together. At some point, however, Chaplin was shot and killed during a robbery on Finchley Common, but Lady Catherine continued alone. Her methods were brutal, often unnecessarily so, but it all came to an end when she held up a wagoner, shooting the driver, but was herself ambushed by his two companions, who had concealed themselves. She was shot, but managed to make her way back to her secret room at Markyate Cell, where she died. That she was buried at night is often seen as sinister, although it was not unusual for the time in which she lived.

The life of the real Catherine Ferrers, who died childless in June 1660 at the age of twenty-six, bears very little resemblance to her fictional counterpart. Although her family had sold Markyate Cell in 1657, and she is believed to have resided in London’s Strand while her highway activities were supposed to have been carried out, she is still associated with the Hertfordshire manor, the name of which was changed from Markyate Cell to Maryiot Cells by Magdalen King-Hall. The house was originally a Benedictine Priory, which was converted into a house in 1540. It was substantially rebuilt following a fire in 1908. When the film, The Wicked Lady, was made, the owners of Markyate Cell were concerned about sightseers and would not allow the company to use it as a location, so Blickling Hall in Norfolk was used instead, a house associated with another famous ghost, that of Anne Boleyn - but that is another story...

Etienne Du Junca

On 11 October 1690, Etienne Du Junca entered the Bastille.

An officer of the guards under M. de Duras, Du Junca had worked his way through the ranks before being selected for service at the Bastille. He took up the post of lieutenant du roi, the second highest rank after the governor. Here, he deputised for Besmaux, the aged governor, who was now too old to carry out his full duties.

Upon taking up his post, Du Junca began a register in which he recorded prisoners who entered the Bastille. In a second register, begun the same day, he recorded those were released or who died in prison. In due course, he would note details of the entry, and the death and burial of the man who was to become the Man in the Iron Mask.

Writing and the Art of Feasibility Studies.

When I reach a certain stage in my work, I like to begin to think about what I want to do next. I'm one of those people who likes to have another project lined up for when the present one is completed. So far, I have narrowed my list down to five options pending feasibility studies. A nightmare for an indecisive person.

Why carry out feasibility studies ? Well...

1, The project has to be viable. It's no use launching into a project that has limited scope or that will not appeal to many.
2, Linked to this is is the marketing aspect. It's a sad fact that there's no point in writing a book that won't be stocked in the shops and that no-one wants to read.
3, The subject has to be interesting and engaging enough to spend a long time with. A book will take at least a year to write, usually significantly longer. If an author 'falls out' with the subject, that's a long time.
4, Will there be time to do the work ? Perhaps the author's time is limited, or they have other commitments. If the work is meant to coincide with an event, such as the release of a film or a TV series, will there be sufficient time to do that ?
5, Another consideration is: in what stage of the author's career does this new project fall ? If it is fairly late, does the author really want to spend time on a book they aren't in love with ? With time getting short, is there perhaps another subject the author would prefer to work on ?

6, Are there sufficient original sources ? Are those sources accessible, and can the author read them ?
7, Will the author have to learn new skills in order to research and write the book - a foreign language, perhaps, or their own language in archaic from. Do they have to learn to read old handwriting, or know something about how certain things were done or viewed in the period they will be researching ? Enthusiasm is no substitute for knowledge !

Such studies provide an important step as authors decide which subject they wish to tackle next.

Ghosts of Versailles ?

On 10 August 1901, two ladies enjoyed a day out at Versailles. Miss Charlotte Anne Elizabeth Moberly and Miss Eleanor Frances Jourdain took tea in the magnificent Galerie des Glaces before walking through the palace’s vast gardens towards the canal. Their ultimate destination was the Petit Trianon, the beautiful house that had been presented to Marie Antoinette by Louis XVI. They had a rough idea of the way, and they had with them the latest copy of Baedeker’s for reference.

It was almost four in the afternoon when they set off. The day had been hot, although it had now clouded over, and there was a pleasantly cool breeze. Having taken the central avenue, they arrived at the canal, to the right of which stood the Grand Trianon. At this point, however, they took a wrong turning. Instead of going right onto the broad road that would have led them to the Petit Trianon, they followed a narrow lane that ran to the right of the Grand Trianon.

Passing under a bridge, the ladies carried on up the lane, which made a sharp turn to the right, and passed some deserted buildings. Suddenly everything took on an unreal quality, as though they had stepped into a painting; they began to experience feeling of depression, even oppression, which deepened the further they went. Still walking in the general direction of the Petit Trianon, they asked two gentlemen, who stood on the path ahead of them, if they were going the right way. Brusquely, the men waved them on.

As they passed some farm buildings, one of the ladies noticed a discarded plough. Miss Jourdain saw a woman passing a jug to a small child. Suddenly they heard the sound of someone running up behind them. They turned to see a young man wearing a green cloak; he was out of breath, but he gave them rapid directions: they must not go left, but to turn right and ‘cherchez la maison.’ His message delivered, he then turned and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

The ladies followed the young man’s directions and took a path that led them into a narrow grotto. Close to the entrance of the grotto stood a circular garden kiosk that looked like a bandstand. They both noticed a man sitting on the low wall that surrounded the kiosk, and something

about his appearance repelled them. He watched them as they went past, but did not speak to them, nor did they speak to him.

A narrow path took them through the grotto, across a small footbridge which skirted a tiny waterfall on the right. This took them over a patch of high ground and on to a meadow, from which they could finally see the Petit Trianon.

Miss Moberly noticed that the building was smaller than she had expected it to be. To reach it, they had to walk over a large area of rough grass which led them all the way to a terrace in front of the house. Here, on their left, she saw a lady sitting on a small stool sketching, ‘she turned her head and looked at us’, Miss Moberly remembered. ‘It was not a young face, and though rather pretty, it was not attractive. She had a shady white straw hat somewhat perched on a good deal of fair hair. Her light summer dress was arranged in handkerchief fashion on the shoulders, and there was a little line of either green or gold near the edge of the handkerchief. Her dress seemed to be short in front, but as she was sitting carelessly I cannot be sure of this. For the same reason, I perceived no distinction about her figure. She had a sheet of paper in her hand, and I had an impression that there was nothing on it. There was something unattractive about her expression, and after looking full at her, I suddenly turned away.’

As they walked up to the terrace searching for an entrance, a door of a building to the side suddenly opened and a man ran out, banging the door behind him. He hurried up to the two ladies, telling them they could not remain there and offering to escort them to the main entrance to the house. Thankful for his assistance, they allowed the stranger to guide them through a narrow space between the buildings and onto the broad drive they should have taken in the first place. The Petit Trianon was a short walk away and, upon entering it, everything seemed to return to normal, and the feeling of depression and anxiety that had come upon them as they had passed under the bridge, suddenly lifted, and they joined a French wedding party, who were visiting the house.

A week later, as they were writing their letters home, they spoke about their visit to the Petit Trianon for the first time. As she considered the events of a week earlier, Miss Moberly asked her companion and asked, ‘Do you think the Petit Trianon is haunted?’ Miss Jourdain answered promptly: ‘Yes, I do.’

Miss Moberly and Miss Jourdain would spend the rest of their lives trying to explain the phenomenon they believed they had experienced. They would come to believe that they had slipped through a ‘ripple in time’ and had actually encountered the Petit Trianon and the people who worked and lived in it as it was in the closing days of the Ancien Régime. They lady, who only Miss Moberly saw, they concluded, was Marie Antoinette, the house’s first mistress.

The story of the ‘Ghosts of Versailles’ has fascinated ghost-hunters and psychologists alike, and it is interesting to note that what the two ladies believe they had experienced that summer is not unique. A similar event occurred to none other than Carl Gustav Jung.

While on a visit to the tomb on Galla Placidia in Ravenna, Jung fell into what he described as a ‘strange mood’. He was struck by the blue light that seemed to bathe the baptistery, although he did not wonder at it nor did he try to account for it. This was his second visit to the tomb, and he was surprised to see that, instead of the windows he remembered from the first visit, there were now four large and very beautiful mosaic frescoes. One mosaic depicted the baptism in the Jordan; the second was the passage of the children of Israel through the Red Sea; the third one quickly faded from Jung’s memory, but he thought it might have shown Naaman being cleansed of leprosy in the Jordan, while the fourth and most impressive of the mosaics depicted Christ holding his hand out to Peter, who was sinking beneath the waves. This memory of last mosaic remained with Jung for a very long time, and he would always be able to recall it in detail.

When Jung and his companion left the baptistery, he wanted to buy some postcards of the mosaics but time was pressing and the two of them had to leave. Having returned home, he asked a friend who was visiting Ravenna to obtain some pictures for him. The friend duly went to the baptistery only to find that the mosaics did not exist.

[This post was first published on Facebook, 10 August 2016].

The Forerunner of the Guillotine

31 March 1307 marks the first recorded use of an execution machine that was to be the forerunner of the guillotine. In this instance, the victim was an Irishman, Murcod Ballagh. The machine, however, is believed to have been used in the Yorkshire town of Halifax from as early as 1280, and it is because of this association with the town that it came to be known as the 'Halifax Gibbet'. By 1564 a similar device, called 'The Maiden', was being used in Scotland.

On 10 October 1789, Dr Joseph-Ignace Guillotin attended the debate held by the National Assembly concerning France's Penal Code. He was against the death penalty, but when he saw that the government was determined to retain it, he proposed six articles, one of which recommended that death by decapitation and without torture should be the standard form of capital punishment in France. He researched various methods, including the Halifax Gibbet and The Maiden, and came up with the device that still bears his name, the Guillotine. Initially, the blade was straight or crescent-shaped, and legend has it that Louis XVI, himself interested in machinery and locks, suggested that the blade should be set at an angle for greater efficiency. Of course, Louis would become the highest ranking victim of the new machine, followed shortly by his queen, Marie-Antoinette and, later, the revolutionary, Maximillien Robespierre.