The Man in the Iron Mask Page 3

  Louis considered his cautiousness to be justified. In the days following Foucquet’s arrest in 1661, a systematic search of his various properties had taken place. In the study of his house at Saint-Mandé, a document was found hidden behind a mirror. In it, Foucquet related his fears that Cardinal Mazarin would persecute him and order his arrest. The relationship between Foucquet and Mazarin was certainly turbulent at times, and Foucquet’s fears were not entirely unfounded.

  The Projet de Saint-Mandé, as the document came to be known, contained a detailed plan of action that was to be enacted in the event of Foucquet’s detention.28 It envisaged three possible scenarios and set out the measures to be taken in each case. It named people whom Foucquet felt he could rely upon to assist him, and who would agitate for his release. It identified relatives, friends, clients, and business associates, many of whom commanded military outposts or who governed towns in strategic locations. These people could provide safe havens where Foucquet’s family and friends could be protected from the royal armies. To some, the plan implied the threat that these towns and outposts, many of which were situated dangerously close to the border with the Spanish Netherlands, could be opened to the enemy in the event that Foucquet was not released.

  For Louis, this was all very sinister. During his minority, when he was still too young to rule in his own right, his kingdom had been threatened by the Fronde. This was a series of uprisings initiated by disaffected members of the nobility, who were later joined by supporters from the Parlement of Paris and members of the clergy. Their aim had been to overthrow the powerful Mazarin, who was distrusted and resented as a foreigner, and to reestablish what the nobles saw as their rightful place in the government of the country. Their actions, however, posed a serious threat to Louis, who would forever be scarred by the indignity and fear to which he was exposed during those years.

  Foucquet’s plan reopened these still tender wounds, and while Foucquet insisted at his trial that he had written the Projet simply as a cathartic exercise, a way to calm his fears in a hostile situation, his enemies saw in it a blueprint for a new Fronde. Despite Foucquet having never attempted to implement the plan or even to inform those named in it of its existence,29 the document was entered as evidence of his intent to commit lèse-majesté, a crime that would automatically have attracted the death penalty had a slim majority of the judges not dismissed it.

  Throughout Foucquet’s trial, it had been Louis’s fear that the superintendent’s powerful friends might attempt to liberate him and a new Fronde would ensue. Even when Foucquet was securely behind the impenetrable walls of the donjon of Pignerol, the king’s mind was still not entirely at ease. These fears were justified when news arrived of a strange man who had been spotted in the town of Pignerol. Who he was no one could say for certain, but it was believed that he had once been in Foucquet’s service. This mysterious man had not come near the donjon and had apparently made no attempt to contact his former master. Saint-Mars had ordered a search to be made, but the man was nowhere to be found.

  Now, at the end of 1669, the uneasy peace of the donjon was broken once more when two men breached the security of Pignerol and managed to enter the citadel. One was Foucquet’s former valet, the faithful La Forêt, who had exchanged those final unhappy words with his master in the courtyard of the Bastille. The other was the sieur de Valcroissant, who went by the name of Honneste. They were well organized and funded, and their aim was nothing less than to break Foucquet out of prison, but it is not known if they were acting on behalf of the Foucquet family or if they had formulated the plot on their own. Whatever the case, they had managed to bribe several soldiers belonging to Saint-Mars’s compagnie-franche, some of whom were detailed to stand below the windows of Foucquet’s apartment as lookouts. They also made contact with Foucquet’s two valets, Champagne and La Rivière.

  Saint-Mars was alerted to what was happening and the plot was thwarted. La Forêt and Honneste fled to Turin, the capital of neutral Piedmont, where they believed they would be safe. Unfortunately for them, men sent by Saint-Mars tracked them to their hideout, and with the help of the Duke of Savoy and the Major of Turin, the fugitives were taken under heavy guard back to Pignerol.

  Once in Saint-Mars’s custody, the higher-ranking Honneste was held in a cell until he could be tried. He would eventually be found guilty of attempting to carry a letter from Foucquet to his wife and sentenced to five years as a galley slave. The soldiers were interrogated and those found guilty were immediately executed. La Forêt, Foucquet’s valet, who had served his master so faithfully, was questioned before being hanged on a scaffold that had been erected outside Foucquet’s window.30

  Saint-Mars was ordered to cover Foucquet’s windows with a screen, which was to be so placed that it would allow in light but prevent the prisoner being able to see anything but the sky. It was also to be fitted with a covering that could be brought down and locked each night to prevent Foucquet sending out or receiving messages. This precaution, it was hoped, would prevent any further attempts by Foucquet or any of his supporters from forming any more plots.31 As to his valets, Louis, Louvois, and Saint-Mars were well aware of how difficult it would be to replace them, given the inflexible conditions in which they were required to live. Instead of imprisoning them or sending them away, Louis deprived them of their wages as punishment for their disloyalty.32

  If Saint-Mars thought he had put the massive breach of security behind him, he was mistaken. Louvois had learned that Honneste or one of Foucquet’s valets had managed to speak to Eustache, who is here referred to as “the prisoner who was brought to you by the major of Dunkirk,” and he informed Saint-Mars about it.33 Saint-Mars must already have known, or suspected, that there was a secret spy operating inside the donjon, someone who was transmitting information back to Louvois and Louis. This had been confirmed in a letter dated September 10, 1669, in which Louvois referred to a conversation between Saint-Mars and La Bretonnière, the king’s lieutenant for the government of the town of Pignerol.34 Now this secret agent had found out that Eustache’s visitor had asked him if he had anything important to say. The prisoner had refused to tell him anything; he had merely told the person on the other side of his door to leave him alone.

  Quite why any of Foucquet’s valets or one of the conspirators would try to question Eustache is not known. It could have been out of curiosity; he was, after all, Foucquet’s only prison companion at the time, and Foucquet could have become aware of his presence when they attended mass. It remains a matter of speculation whether or not Foucquet sent someone to ask after his fellow prisoner, perhaps with a view to securing his rescue as well as his own.

  What is more plausible is Louvois’s suggestion: that Eustache probably thought Saint-Mars had sent someone to test him to see if he would say anything. In either case, Louvois conveyed the king’s anger: “You have not taken sufficient precautions to prevent his having any communications with anyone,” rebuked Louvois, “and, as it is very important to His Majesty’s service that he has no communication, please inspect carefully inside and outside the place where he is held, and put it in such order that the prisoner cannot see or be seen by anyone, and cannot speak to anyone at all, nor hear those who might want to say anything to him.”35

  The revelation that the security of his donjon and compagnie-franche had been so seriously compromised terrified Saint-Mars, and he was desperate to show Louis and Louvois that he was still in full command and that no one could deceive him. “There are people who are so curious to ask me news of my prisoner,” he wrote, “or the reason why I have made so many entrenchments for my security, that I am obliged to tell them contes jaunes [fairy tales] to make fun of them.”36 Even so, the events of the recent past were awful warning. Work on Eustache’s special cell was stepped up, and he was installed the following April.

  The exact location of the cell in which Eustache spent the first years of his imprisonment is not known for certain; but, as will be seen, there is reason to
believe that the cell was inside the Lower Tower, situated midway along the southern façade of the donjon. “The Lower Tower, because of its situation, could not be seen from outside,” writes Théodore Iung. It had three floors “and a rather large single room with vents, without broad daylight, on each of these floors.”37

  That August, Louvois paid a visit to Pignerol. He took with him his clerk, M. de Nallot, and the military engineer, Sébastien Le Prestre, seigneur de Vauban. Two months later, the garrison of the citadel of Pignerol was changed, with M. de Rissan, the king’s lieutenant, taking the place of M. de Saint-Jacques as commander of the citadel of Pignerol.38 The purpose of these precautions was to ensure the security of the citadel and, more importantly, the donjon, for which Rissan was ordered to liaise with Saint-Mars. Once again, the concern here was not with Eustache, but Foucquet. Louis continued to fear that the ex-superintendent might find a way to escape or that his friends and supporters might succeed in liberating him. Louis, however, need not have worried. After nine years as a prisoner, and still in shock following the execution of his faithful servant, La Forêt, Nicolas Foucquet had lost all interest in earthly matters. His spirit broken, he withdrew into himself and took solace in contemplating the next world. He requested, and was granted a Bible, which Saint-Mars was authorized to go out and buy for him. As for Eustache, shut inside the secure cell that was now his permanent home, closed in behind three sets of heavy, studded doors, he vanished from the world.

  THREE The Comte de Lauzun

  One of the most challenging problems facing Saint-Mars at Pignerol was illness among his prisoners. They and their valets were frequently plagued by colds, fevers, and vague maladies that could last from a few days to several weeks. One of the main causes was their close confinement, which deprived them of fresh air and exercise. Another was the mountain climate, which left their apartments too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter.

  In August 1671, Saint-Mars reported that Foucquet had a slight fever, although he was not too incommoded by it. One of his valets, however, was very ill, as was “the prisoner you sent me”; that is, Eustache.1 A week later, Foucquet was still unwell. As he wrote, Saint-Mars was not particularly concerned, for Foucquet’s “good way of life will protect him from a troublesome illness.” It was a different matter for the other men under his charge, however. Foucquet’s valet continued to be “extremely ill,” as did “the prisoner who was brought to me.”2 Eustache, alone in his miserable cell, had scarcely enough of the bare necessities of life, and now Saint-Mars did not even deign to use his name. It is not clear whether this was deliberate, his way of showing that he was actively seeking to preserve the secrecy that surrounded his mysterious prisoner, or whether he had forgotten Eustache’s name.

  A month later, Foucquet had recovered from what turns out to have been an attack of sciatica. His valet and Saint-Mars’s “other prisoner” were still unwell, although it appears that they had improved slightly.3 As the first leaves of autumn began to fall, Saint-Mars was authorized to have a suit of winter clothes made for Foucquet, but his two valets had to make do with the clothes they already had.4 With the coming of winter, Saint-Mars’s tribulations were about to increase still further.

  It was on December 12, 1671, when the Porte de Saint-Jacques, the secret entrance to the donjon of Pignerol, swung open to reveal two hundred musketeers assembled in the snowy wastes beyond. The musketeers were commanded by captain-lieutenant d’Artagnan. Almost six years previously, he had brought Nicolas Foucquet to this remote and melancholy outpost. Now he had returned with another prisoner.

  As a small carriage rattled through the gate and came to a halt, Saint-Mars walked up to it and waited for the door to be opened. Inside sat a man in his late thirties,5 small and fair; although not handsome, he had a certain attraction and the bearing of a man who was used to life at court and military service. A former favorite of Louis XIV, the illustrious Antonin Nompar de Caumont, marquis de Puyguilhem, comte de Lauzun, was passed into Saint-Mars’s care.

  Saint-Mars had been expecting Lauzun’s arrival for more than two weeks, having been advised by a letter from Louvois to prepare rooms for him. By now, the jailer knew what was expected of him, but Louvois, acting on the king’s orders, gave detailed instructions all the same.

  The king ordered Saint-Mars to ensure that Lauzun would be guarded with “all the precautions imaginable.”6 He and the valet assigned to him must never be allowed to leave his rooms, the door to which must never be opened except in the presence of Saint-Mars, who was told to apply the same precautions taken for the security of Foucquet. Indeed, he was to be “much more alert in guarding the prisoner than has been necessary for guarding the other [Foucquet] because he is capable of anything to save himself by strength or artfulness, or by corrupting someone, than monsieur Foucquet.”

  If Saint-Mars deemed Foucquet’s apartment to be more secure than the one he had prepared for Lauzun, then he should put Lauzun in that one and move Foucquet to the rooms currently occupied by Madame de Saint-Mars. In this case, Saint-Mars was required to place screens on the windows and chimneys and brick up all the doors except one. This door, which would serve as the only entrance into the chamber, should be the one in the ruelle du lit, or the small alcove in which the bed was placed. This way, Foucquet would be well accommodated and only one sentinel would be required to watch the entrances to his apartment and Lauzun’s.

  It was the king’s wish that Lauzun should be denied writing materials; he was not to be given paper or ink even to write to Louis, unless the king gave his express permission first. He was, however, allowed to hear the mass that was said for Foucquet on feast days and Sundays, but precautions had to be taken to ensure that there was no communication between the two prisoners. Similarly, Lauzun would be allowed to make his confession at Easter if he wished, using the confessor that was provided for Foucquet. In the event that Lauzun became ill, he would be attended by the same physicians and surgeons who saw Foucquet.

  Just as he did with Foucquet, Louis would bear the cost of the food provided for Lauzun, which should be of the same quality as that served to Foucquet. As members of the nobility, the quality of their food would be high, reflecting the fare that would be available to them if they were free.

  Lauzun would also be provided with linen and clothes, “observing that the clothes should be clean and plain.” As to furniture, Saint-Mars should provide a good bed, chairs, tables, and firedogs and other items for the fire. He should also obtain a Bergamo tapestry to break up the monotony of the bare prison walls and keep out drafts.

  As befitting a man of his social standing, Lauzun was to be given a valet, perhaps one of those who were currently serving Foucquet, or one of Saint-Mars’s own. This valet would be locked up with his master and would not be allowed to communicate with anyone other than Lauzun.

  Saint-Mars was to make it his business to know everything Lauzun said or did, and to give a regular account of it. He was then asked to state how many extra men he would need to recruit to his compagnie-franche, for the “sure guard of this prisoner is very important.”

  Already there was a discernible change in the king’s attitude toward Foucquet. Having been a prisoner for ten years, during which Louis’s primary concern was that he should not escape, Foucquet’s security remained important, but less so than that of Lauzun. Moreover, there is no mention of Eustache, all the more curious given the tight security surrounding him and the imperative that he should have no communication with the outside world.

  Saint-Mars replied to Louvois’s letter a few days later to say that thirty extra men would suffice to ensure the secure guard of his new prisoner. He noted that Monsieur de Nallot, Louvois’s clerk, had arrived to oversee the arrangements and that, together, they had decided that the best place to lodge Lauzun was the apartment below the one occupied by Foucquet. It had two rooms with low ceilings, it was warm, and there were grills on the windows made of thick iron bars. Despite this, the rooms were cons
idered to be light enough, at least as far as Saint-Mars was concerned. Once securely installed, the prisoner “would not be able to see or hear any living soul.”7 Louvois would remember this apartment, Saint-Mars said, for he had inspected it during his recent visit to Pignerol, and he had no doubt that the minister would be pleased with this arrangement.8 Saint-Mars then explained that he had the keys and locks for the apartment made in front of his lieutenants, whom he relieved by turns, so that, he said, he “cannot be deceived.”9 He continued:

  From what I am having done in this place, I can answer to you on my life for the safety of Monsieur de Lauzun, and for the fact that he can neither receive nor transmit any news to the outside world. I stake my honor, Monseigneur, that you will never hear news of him, except through me, while he is under my care; and I shall take my precautions so well and shall be so alert that I am running no risk in what I undertake. You have shown me so fully the will of his Majesty, on the subject of the safety of the new prisoner who is being brought to me, that I can protest to you that he will be as though “in pace.” I shall treat him politely, without, however, holding any communication with him unless you command it expressly.10