The Man in the Iron Mask Page 13
On the other hand, there were those for whom the return of Foucquet could spell disaster, and for this reason some have speculated that Foucquet was murdered in order to ensure that such an eventuality could never come to pass. Foucquet was once described as “the most vigorous actor at court” by a former colleague, Guillaume de Lamoignon, first president of the Parlement of Paris.29 According to Maurice Duvivier,30 Foucquet was murdered by Eustache, who had been persuaded to poison his master by either Colbert or Lauzun, both of whom had promised him freedom as his reward.
Colbert’s motive was clear. Not only had he taken over Foucquet’s office as superintendent of finances, albeit under a different title, he had also been influential in bringing about his downfall. He, more than anyone, had much to gain by preventing Foucquet’s return; he therefore persuaded Eustache to poison Foucquet. Yet, it has to be asked, how could Colbert have communicated with Eustache, who had no means of corresponding with anyone? Moreover, there is nothing to suggest that he knew who Eustache was, let alone where he was. While Eustache’s name is given in the letter that had been sent to Saint-Mars in July 1669 to warn him to expect a new prisoner, it is omitted from the register of Ministry for War.31 Whether this was a bureaucratic oversight or an attempt to conceal what had become of him is a matter for conjecture.
As to Lauzun, he and Foucquet had fallen out shortly before the latter’s death. In this scenario, Lauzun would have asked Eustache to murder the only man to have treated him with kindness and civility, and in whose service he had found relief from the harsh and lonely conditions to which he had been subjected for several years. In favor of this theory, Lauzun would have been able to gain access to Eustache had he so wished, so it is not impossible that the two could have conspired to poison Foucquet. Lauzun, however, was in no position to promise Eustache his freedom or anything else, and Eustache would surely have known that. He was, after all, an exemplary prisoner, who lived “like a man entirely resigned to the will of God and the King.”32
To Duvivier’s short list of suspects might be added Louvois. As the son of Michel Le Tellier, another of Foucquet’s implacable enemies who had worked alongside Colbert to bring him down, he might not have welcomed the prospect of the former superintendent’s recall. Although relations between Foucquet and Louvois had become relatively genial of late, this apparent cordiality was nevertheless subject to a significant imbalance of power between the two men. While Louvois was the master, he could afford to be friendly, while Foucquet, as the prisoner, was in no position to antagonize the man who held jurisdiction over the prisons of France and who worked so closely with the king. Should Foucquet be pardoned and recalled, this balance might well shift markedly in Foucquet’s favor, and the former superintendent just might decide to take out his anger on the son of one of the men responsible for his ruin and lengthy incarceration. Although Louvois obviously knew who Eustache was and where he was, again it must be asked how he could have communicated the order to poison Foucquet to Eustache without Saint-Mars finding out about it and intervening to save his prisoner’s life.
Another theory, this one put forward by Marcel Pagnol, suggests that Saint-Mars had administered the poison on the direct orders of Louis XIV, although he offers no motive for the crime. Pagnol points out that Saint-Mars would have had no need to go out and procure the poison; he had found some in the belongings of Plassot several years earlier and, rather than disposing of it, he had kept it.33 In Pagnol’s view, Eustache and La Rivière were secretly imprisoned together in the Lower Tower to ensure their silence, for they knew that Foucquet had been poisoned. Saint-Mars had once spoken of a place where mutes would talk after having been there for a month;34 that same place could equally serve to keep silent those who should not speak.
In fact, Foucquet had posed no threat to anyone, least of all Louis XIV. The king had authorized the gradual alleviation of his imprisonment in a slow but steady course that must have allowed his friends and family to hope that he would soon be released. Should such an event occur, it is highly unlikely that Foucquet would have returned to court; Louis, after all, still believed him to have been guilty not only of mishandling the finances, but also of high treason. Had Foucquet left prison, it would have been so that he could live quietly as a private person, and his liberation would have been an act of compassion on the part of the king to an old man who was broken in every way.
Foucquet had been unwell for quite some time. In his first surviving letter to his wife, dated February 1675, he gave a list of his ailments: problems with digestion, with his liver, swelling and inflammation in his legs, sciatica, colic, and stones. He was seriously ill in July 1677 and again in August of the following year, when he was allowed to consult Vézou, who had formerly attended Mazarin. More recently, in December 1679, Foucquet wrote asking permission to leave Pignerol and withdraw to a place where he could take care of himself. This request, as he must have anticipated, was denied.35 A short while later, he wrote directly to Louvois to ask to be allowed to have a change of air for health reasons. Louvois replied that he had put the request to Louis, but that the king had not yet responded.36 Two months later, Louvois sent some packets of remedies to Foucquet. The prisoner also required the services of a surgeon, who would apply the standard remedy of the day, bleeding, and who would receive 320 livres for his services.
Moreover, Foucquet’s condition had worsened over the last few weeks of his life, exacerbated by depression. He was unhappy about his quarrel with Lauzun. Salvert, Mme Foucquet’s homme d’affaires, was doing the work that Foucquet ought to have been doing for his family. Lauzun’s behavior toward Mademoiselle Foucquet was an insult to the former superintendent and his family. Then there was the death, in January 1680, of his brother, Basile. The two had once been very close, but had become enemies prior to Nicolas’s arrest, with Basile siding with those who wished to do his brother harm. Basile had not accompanied the rest of the family to Pignerol, but the two had exchanged letters. In the end no real reconciliation was reached, and therefore no closure to the bitterness that had tainted their relationship had been achieved.
Foucquet died at a time when Paris and the court were gripped by a series of scandals that came to be known as the Affair of the Poisons. It is little wonder, then, that Mme de Sévigné should have been influenced by events going on around her. Certainly, there were discrepancies in reports of Foucquet’s death, but these can easily be accounted for by unawareness of the true facts, guesswork, and the influence of ongoing events closer to home.
Several sources attest to the death of Nicolas Foucquet on March 23, 1680: Madame de Sévigné’s letter to her daughter; Bussy-Rabutin’s letter to a friend; the official account published in the April 6, 1680, issue of the Gazette; as well as the correspondence between the vicomte de Vaux and Louvois. No one at the time suggested that Foucquet had died of poisoning, or indeed that he had been murdered. In fact, Foucquet’s decline can be tracked in documents that passed between Saint-Mars and Louvois. Following Foucquet’s seizure, Lauzun had gone to his room where he asked for, and received, the dying man’s forgiveness for the wrongs he had done him. A rumor circulated that Foucquet had died in his son’s arms. Since young vicomte de Vaux was present at Pignerol at the time, as was his sister, this is entirely possible.37
What, then, were the drugs found in Eustache’s possession? There are several possible explanations, none of which include murder. The drugs may have comprised the ingredients of sympathetic ink or indeed the finished product, which Foucquet was known to have made and some of which he might have given to Eustache or were perhaps stolen by him. It is not impossible that Foucquet taught his valets to make this ink, although it is difficult to imagine that so sensible a man would do something so irresponsible.
More probably, the drugs were a compound or tincture manufactured for medicinal use. The word can refer to a remedy prepared by an amateur or charlatan, that is to say quack medicine, such as Eustache might have made.38 It could also have been a m
edicine made for Eustache by Foucquet, who was considerably more knowledgeable about pharmacy than was Eustache. He was known to have made medicines in prison, such as Queen of Hungary water, bitter chicory water, and syrup of peach flowers.39 It is known that Eustache had been ill. On September 13, 1679, for example, Louvois asked for news of his health.40 It is conceivable that Foucquet provided him with medicines and nursed him through his illness, as he had previously done with his valet Champagne.
Eustache was imprisoned in the Lower Tower weeks before the drugs were found in his possession. His imprisonment, therefore, did not increase in severity because it was thought he had poisoned his master; he was simply being returned to his cell now that he was no longer required to serve as a valet. For La Rivière, the situation was entirely different. Under normal circumstances, a man who had been employed as a valet, even if he had served a state prisoner, would have been retained for several weeks or months before being set free, his accumulated wages in his pocket, to continue his life as he chose. The detention was a simple but effective security precaution, devised so that any news or information his master might have passed to him would be old or useless by the time he returned to the world. Unfortunately for La Rivière, the circumstances were anything but normal. Not only was he suspected by Louis and Louvois of having learned Eustache’s secret, but he was also aware of the secret hole in the chimney through which Foucquet and Lauzun had communicated and had failed in his duty to reveal it to Saint-Mars. Under these circumstances, his imprisonment would have been justified, and he was sent to the Lower Tower alongside Eustache. From this point onward, Eustache and La Rivière lost not only their freedom, but also their identities. Their names would no longer appear in the official correspondence.
NINE Exilles
Saint-Mars had come to Pignerol in January 1665 with the specific purpose of guarding one prisoner, Nicolas Foucquet. Since that time, he had taken in several others, some of whom left after a short time, and others who were still under his care. Following Foucquet’s death on March 23, 1680, Saint-Mars was left with seven prisoners. In order of their entry into Pignerol, they were Eustache, who was described by Louvois as a valet and a “wretch,” and who had later been allowed to serve Foucquet in prison. Butticari, a spy working for the duc de Savoie, who was freed on Louis’s orders on August 11, 1675, but rearrested four years later. He was released before December 1680. Lafleur, about whom almost nothing is known, was possibly a soldier attached to the Pignerol garrison who had been arrested on a minor charge. Imprisoned in November 1678, he, too, was free by December 1680. Lauzun was one of Louis XIV’s favored courtiers, and the official reasons for his imprisonment remain a mystery. He had been moved to more secure accommodation higher in the Angle Tower. Lapierre the Jacobin was kept under such terrible conditions that he had gone insane. Dubreuil had also gone insane as a result of the harsh treatment to which he was subjected. Lastly, there was Matthioli, referred to in official correspondence as Lestang, who shared a chamber with his valet, Rousseau. There was now a secret eighth man, however, La Rivière, who had lost his freedom because he was believed to have learned something he should not know and because he failed to report a major breach of security caused when Lauzun made a hole in the chimney.
For a time, life carried on as normal behind the cold stone walls of the citadel. That summer, the comtesse de Nogent came to see her brother, Lauzun. Saint-Mars was required to observe the same precautions as he had done when the chevalier de Lauzun had visited. He was also asked to report anything that passed between brother and sister that might be of interest to the king.1
During the long, weary years that Lauzun had been a prisoner, one person continued to hold a special place for him in her heart: his former fiancée, la Grande Mademoiselle. She had never stopped campaigning for his release. At every opportunity, she would appeal to Louis, but her pleading availed her nothing. Now, it looked as though her dearest wish was about to be granted.
Years earlier, on March 31, 1670, to be precise, Lauzun had waited in a darkened corridor while Mme de Montespan gave birth to her first child with the king. Taking the baby, a boy, in his arms, he carried him to Mme Scarron, who looked after the king’s brood of illegitimate children. Louis loved all his children, but this child, now the duc du Maine, ten years old, with the face of an angel and endowed with the razor-sharp wit of his mother, was his favorite. Although the king had legitimized him, he wanted to shower him with yet more marks of favor, but there was a limit to what he could do for a child born out of wedlock.2 He turned to someone who was in a position to help, a lady whose wealth was immense and who had no child of her own to inherit it: his cousin, la Grande Mademoiselle. Mme de Montespan, encouraged by Louis, began to flatter her.
“Think of what you might do that would be agreeable to the King,” said Mme de Montespan, “that he may grant you that which you have so much to heart.”3 Just in case Mademoiselle failed to take the hint, the point was pressed more firmly by a gentleman named Pertuis, a great friend to Lauzun, who nudged her: “If you could only lead them to hope that you would give your wealth to M. du Maine!”4
Of course, what Mademoiselle had so much to heart was Lauzun’s freedom, but now she knew that the price for this would be to hand over a substantial portion of her estates and the titles and revenues that went with them, as well as a generous cash endowment; all this she would relinquish in favor of the duc du Maine.
As it was, Mademoiselle was very fond of children, and she liked to spend time with Louis’s sons and daughters. A childhood illness had left the duc de Maine crippled in one leg, and his condition had been made worse by the attentions of a Dutch doctor who had boasted that he could straighten out the limb. Madame Scarron would often take the child to Barèges to take its curative waters, from where the little duc would write charming letters to Mademoiselle.
Despite her love for the boy, Mademoiselle was understandably reluctant to hand over so much of her property. It took several months of persuasion, and always the promise of Lauzun’s freedom was dangled before her as a reward. In the end, she knew she had no choice but to comply with Madame de Montespan’s wishes. On February 2, 1681, in a special ceremony, Mademoiselle signed away the sovereignty of Dombes and the earldom of Eu, the combined income of which amounted to 50,000 écus. The signature was witnessed by the king’s minister Colbert, Lauzun’s friend Barail, and Mme de Montespan, who held the king’s power of attorney for the occasion.
Everyone praised Mademoiselle’s actions and tried to convince her that she had done the right thing, but she was not so sure. Returning to her chamber after the ceremony, she accidentally dropped her looking glass, which was made of thick rock crystal: “I am terrified,” she said; “perhaps it is an omen, and I shall repent of what I have done.”5
Louis expressed his pleasure at the outcome of the transaction, as well he might, but Mademoiselle’s desire to secure the release of Lauzun showed no sign of being granted. Several weeks were to pass, during which she fell from hope to despair. All the time, Mme de Montespan assured her that she was doing everything possible to help Lauzun, until one day she invited Mademoiselle to take a promenade with her, saying she had something to tell her. Mademoiselle did not want to go and ignored more than one summons, but in the end she gave in to the royal mistress’s demands and agreed to see her.
“You have not been in haste,” chided Mme de Montespan when the two ladies met in the garden. “The King has desired me tell you that he will allow M. de Lauzun to leave Pignerol, to go to Bourbon.” Mademoiselle felt cheated; she wanted Lauzun to come to her, not to go to Bourbon, so many miles away. Worse was that Lauzun would still be a prisoner. “The King leaves the choice to you to select whom you please to guard him,” continued Mme de Montespan, adding that Louis “wished it still to have the appearance of an imprisonment.”6
This was bad enough, but there was worse to come. Later, as the two ladies walked together in the garden of Saint-German, Mme de Montespan turned
to Mademoiselle and said: “The King has told me to inform you that he does not wish you to think of marrying M. de Lauzun.” Mademoiselle was devastated. The tears began to flow. She had been led to believe that she would at last be allowed to marry Lauzun, and she told Mme de Montespan so. The royal favorite merely told her coldly, “I have promised you nothing.”7 All Mademoiselle would receive in return for her sacrifice was Lauzun’s release from Pignerol.
For Saint-Mars, this eventuality could not come quickly enough. In the autumn of 1680, Lauzun, never the easiest of prisoners to guard, had become even more difficult, his behavior surely forgivable in a man who had been subject to the harshest imprisonment without trial and without understanding what he had done to deserve it. He had taken to abusing Blainvilliers and Villebois, both lieutenants in Saint-Mars’s compagnie-franche. In reality, there was little Saint-Mars could do except point out to Lauzun that his men were not at Pignerol to be ill-treated by him and that, should he persist in this abuse, Saint-Mars would be obliged to lock him inside his room because these men no longer wished to accompany him on his walks in the citadel and he could not entrust the job to anyone else.8 Nevertheless, attempts had been made to placate Lauzun. He had enjoyed the visit from his sister. On one occasion he asked to see Père des Escures, the superior of the Jesuits of Pignerol. This request was granted, and he and the priest were allowed to converse as and when they wished for as long as they wished providing the usual security precautions were applied.9
Lauzun also received a visit from his friend Barail, who had come on the pretext that Lauzun had injured his arm. Barail brought a surgeon with him in order to maintain the pretense. In fact, he had secretly been tasked to prepare Lauzun for his imminent release. During the negotiations that had taken place between Mademoiselle and Mme de Montespan, it emerged that Mademoiselle had sold her earldom of Eu to Lauzun, and now, with thoughts of freedom being too tempting to resist, he announced that he was willing to discuss terms by which the earldom would pass to the young duc du Maine. Louis, satisfied with how things had turned out, issued orders on April 22, 1681, for Lauzun to be taken to Bourbon. Mademoiselle had selected Maupertuis, who had formed part of Lauzun’s escort on the journey to Pignerol almost ten years earlier, to lead him on to the next stage of his captivity.