Even at this early stage in his personal reign, Louis was harboring ambitions in the Spanish Netherlands, and he had recognized that hostilities between Spain and Portugal could prove useful to him. Since Foucquet had been one of those who expressed reservations about the Treaty of the Pyrenees, Louis entrusted him to negotiate with the English in a bid to bring Charles II, recently restored to the throne, into an alliance with the Portuguese. Such a pact would bring England into France’s network of European allies. It would be sealed by Charles’s marriage to the Portuguese Infanta, Catherine of Braganza, and further sweetened with large subsidies from France.2 The mission was so secret that Louis did not wish to use his own diplomats. Instead, he ordered Foucquet to use his own intermediary to induce Edward Hyde, the Earl of Clarendon, to accept the plan and press Charles into marrying the Infanta Catherine.3
The sensitive nature of these diplomatic missions and the secrecy that had surrounded them persuaded Louis of the danger of allowing Foucquet to live freely beyond the borders of France. There was, however, another reason why Louis was reluctant to allow the sentence of banishment to be conferred on Foucquet: the ex-superintendent was well aware of the inner workings of French finances, a system that kept power and wealth in the hands of a few at the expense of the poor and powerless. Louis was keen not to let this “secret” be known.
The king was a fair and just man, but on this occasion, and for the first time in the history of the French monarchy, he used his powers not to moderate a sentence against an offender, but to augment it. On December 22, 1664, the same day that Foucquet learned of the verdict and his punishment, Louis issued a decree to be read out in council:
The king judged that there might be great danger in letting the sieur Foucquet leave the kingdom, given the peculiar knowledge he had of the most important affairs of the state; that is why he commuted the punishment of perpetual banishment, carried by this judgment, to that of perpetual imprisonment.4
The prison Louis had selected for the incarceration of the man who had served him so faithfully as superintendent of finances, procureur-général, and diplomat was the donjon of faraway Pignerol.
Foucquet, who left behind a wife, five children, four of whom were very young,5 and his elderly mother, began his journey at eleven o’clock in the morning of December 22, 1664, just three hours after the verdict of the trial and his amended sentence had been read out to him. His carriage, which was adapted for security rather than comfort during the long journey ahead, was heavily fortified with bars on the windows and across the doors. Louis had turned Foucquet’s carriage into a cage on wheels. His greatest fear was that the former superintendent would attempt to escape, or that his loyal friends and allies would try to mount a rescue. As an added precaution, the carriage was escorted by a company of one hundred musketeers under d’Artagnan’s command.6 Four of the musketeers sat inside the carriage, one on either side of the prisoner, while the other two occupied the seats facing him.
D’Artagnan had been the one to arrest Foucquet on the king’s orders and, apart from a break of a few weeks, had remained with him throughout the entire legal process. Although he obeyed his orders meticulously, he was a benevolent jailer and treated Foucquet with kindness and humanity. As the carriage pulled out of the courtyard of the Bastille, Foucquet’s loyal servant,7 La Forêt, rushed forward, prompting d’Artagnan to order the coach to slow down sufficiently to allow the two men to exchange a few last words: “I am delighted to see you,” Foucquet called out through the heavy grating. “I know your fidelity and your affection. Tell our wives that they should not be downhearted, that I have courage to spare, and that I am well.”8 It was an emotional farewell, and Foucquet’s words were immediately circulated among his friends.
Foucquet reached the Porte Saint-Antoine to find a large crowd had assembled. They cheered and wished him well on his way as the carriage thundered through the gates of Paris and out into the wintery countryside beyond. At seven that evening, with the night already closed in, d’Artagnan gave orders for the company to stop at Villeneuve-Saint-Georges.
The following morning saw the unhappy prisoner passing through the town of Melun, a poignant moment because he had formerly been its seigneur, or lord. Nearby lay his magnificent château of Vaux-le-Vicomte, the symbol of his magnificence and his former standing as one of the most powerful men in France. Now it stood as a reminder of tragedy, the hope of further glories to come fading into the winter gloom.
Perhaps it was no coincidence that Foucquet became ill at this early stage of the journey. The trauma of his already lengthy imprisonment, the stress of being kept apart from his family, the constant fear of execution, and the strain of the show trial all had taken their toll. When the news reached Paris, Mme de Sévigné wrote to a friend: “There is a rumor here that he is very ill.”9 It was said that d’Artagnan had sent a messenger to court to ask what he might do for his sick prisoner. The reply was callous: d’Artagnan was to continue the journey, no matter how ill the prisoner was.
By the afternoon of January 11, 1665, the company reached as far as Gap, the largest town in the Hautes-Alpes. The town consuls welcomed their guests and managed to find lodgings for everyone, and six bottles of wine, which had been provided by the vintner Jean Gile, were presented to d’Artagnan. At the musketeer’s request, Jacques Etraud, an apothecary, was sent to attend a member of the party who had fallen ill. Who this was is not known. Certainly, Foucquet had been unwell during the early days of the long journey, but there was also a large company of musketeers, as well as valets and other servants. Any one of these men could have required the apothecary’s services.10
D’Artagnan continued to treat Foucquet with great kindness and was attentive to his every need. Since Foucquet’s personal attendants had been removed from him, the musketeer provided his prisoner with one of his own valets. In the hard Alpine winter, the air was bitterly cold, and d’Artagnan ensured that Foucquet, who was now approaching fifty, had “all the furs necessary to pass through the mountains without discomfort.”11 He made every effort to keep Foucquet’s spirits up, telling him to be “cheerful and always to have courage, that all would be well.”12 Perhaps d’Artagnan, who continued to receive dispatches from the king during the long journey, secretly shared the hopes of Foucquet’s friends in Paris that there would be some easing of the prisoner’s ordeal. Alas, it was not to be. More than three weeks after leaving Paris, the imposing sight of the donjon of Pignerol dispelled any hopes that the plight of the ex-superintendent would find a happy ending.
Saint-Mars had arrived at Pignerol a matter of days ahead of his prisoner and had immediately set about preparing an apartment for Foucquet. He selected a suite of two chambers on the third floor of the Angle Tower, a sizeable D-shaped structure set in the southeastern corner of the donjon. The larger of these two chambers measured twenty-six feet by twelve, but the second was only a garderobe measuring twelve feet by ten. This was equipped with a siege d’aisance: a “seat of easement,” built into the thickness of the outer wall.13 D’Artagnan inspected the arrangements, but he was not fully satisfied. Certainly, Foucquet had a living room and a proper chamber in which to keep his clothes, as well as a privy, but he did not have a bedroom. Even in prison, the rights and privileges of rank continued to be observed. Foucquet was a nobleman, holding the titles of vicomte de Vaux and marquis de Belle-Île, and the captain-lieutenant thought that a gentleman of Foucquet’s quality ought to have a separate bedchamber, so he ordered Saint-Mars to assign a third room and furnish it appropriately.
Louis had set out detailed instructions regarding Foucquet’s imprisonment that Saint-Mars was expected to follow.14 The first of these referred to the general procedures and manner in guarding Foucquet, but they gave no particular requirement except to say that Saint-Mars should look to the example set by d’Artagnan when he had been in charge of Foucquet at Vincennes, the Bastille, and other prisons. The king then turned to details that particularly concerned him. It was clear fro
m the very beginning that the first priority was security, and Foucquet was to be subjected to a rigorous regime. The prisoner was not permitted to have any communication with anyone, nor was he to be allowed to receive visitors. He was not to leave his apartment on any pretext, not even to go for a walk or take the air.
Foucquet was an intelligent man and an intellectual, and Louis anticipated that he would request writing materials, in which case Saint-Mars was ordered to refuse him. He could have books to read, but these were to be restricted to one at a time. As a security measure, it was imperative that Saint-Mars examine the books very carefully before giving them to Foucquet, and when they were handed back, he had to ensure that nothing had been written or hidden inside them or that they had otherwise been marked. Louis added that, whenever Foucquet required new clothes or linen, Saint-Mars was to provide them, and his expenditure would be reimbursed by the king upon submission of an invoice.
Throughout the long legal process, Foucquet had been attended by his personal physician and his valet de chambre. Now it was necessary to find someone to serve him in his new prison. While no mention of a physician was made, Saint-Mars was ordered to provide a new valet, someone he judged suitable to serve at Pignerol. It was important to bear in mind, though, that the person chosen would “be likewise deprived of all communication [with the outside world] and will be no more free to leave than the said Foucquet.” To compensate for the fact that the valet would, to all intents and purposes, be a prisoner himself, Louis would pay for his board and provide 61 livres per month in wages. In case the valet should fall ill, Saint-Mars was authorized to appoint another, provided he was loyal to the king.15
Foucquet’s valet could expect to be kept very busy indeed. His duties were wide-ranging and included helping his master to wash and dress, to shave his beard, trim his hair and nails, and look after his clothes. He would not launder the clothes, however; that was the province of laundresses who would take the ex-superintendent’s shirts, bedding, and table linen to the river. The valet would also cook and serve Foucquet’s meals, wash his plates and cutlery, change his bed, and generally keep his apartment clean and tidy. As though this were not enough, he was expected to act as a spy, reporting Foucquet’s every word and action to Saint-Mars, who would then give an account in his dispatches to Louvois.
Foucquet had once owned elegant town houses in the center of Paris, a sumptuous manor at Saint-Mandé on the outskirts of the city, and, most famously, a magnificent château at Vaux-le-Vicomte near Maincy in the Île-de-France. Now, his world had shrunk to three modest chambers with strong iron bars on the windows. The apartment was situated so that Foucquet would be awakened each morning by the light of the rising sun as it filtered through the windows. Later in the day, as the clock of the nearby church chimed out the long hours of his lonely and empty existence, the sun would set behind the mountains, the shadows rapidly closing in, leaving him with only his valet for company in the cold darkness of the night.
* * *
The Angle Tower stood next to the barracks, where Saint-Mars’s compagnie-franche was stationed. This was also where the arsenal was housed. Weaponry, including muskets, swords, and artillery, was stored there, as were the ammunition and the powder magazine. Six months after Foucquet’s arrival, a summer storm crashed over Pignerol. Foucquet and his valet climbed into the window embrasure to watch as the lightning flashed and danced on the distant mountains. Without warning, a direct strike on the arsenal ignited the powder and caused a massive explosion.16 As the walls blew out, the roof of the Angle Tower smashed down onto the ceiling, which crashed onto the floor, which gave way beneath the weight.
Nicolas Séverat, an adjutant with the Lyonnais regiment, rushed to the scene to find the bloodied bodies of soldiers lying among the rubble; the walking wounded wandered in a daze, while the shattered remains of cannon and other weaponry lay broken and scattered all about. Rushing into the donjon, he found another five soldiers, all in a state of shock, and still more dead. Looking up, he saw Foucquet and his valet. The thickness of the wall had protected them from the explosion, and both had escaped with only a few bruises and scratches. Séverat and the chevalier de Saint-Martin of the compagnie-franche found a ladder and helped them to climb down to safety.17
When Saint-Mars rummaged through what remained of Foucquet’s apartment, he made an alarming discovery. Hidden in the back of a broken chair, he found a scorched handkerchief covered with writing. Foucquet had made pens out of chicken bones and ink by mixing soot with wine. Clearly Saint-Mars’s surveillance of the prisoner had not been as close as it should have been, but there was more. Since his youth, Foucquet had shown an interest in chemistry, and he had owned several books on the subject, which he kept in his library at Saint-Mandé. Unlike some bibliophiles, however, he had not collected books for decoration or as symbols of his wealth, but he actually read them. Now, unbeknownst to Saint-Mars, he had put his knowledge to good use to manufacture sympathetic ink, which he used to write inside one of the books Saint-Mars had given him. The writing appeared when the book was warmed by the fire that had followed the explosion. Saint-Mars bundled the pens, ink, and the handkerchief Foucquet had covered with writing and sent them together with the book to Louis. The king’s response was swift: “You must try to find out from monsieur Foucquet’s valet how he was able to write the four lines which appeared in the book upon warming it, and of what he composed this writing.”18 After questioning the valet, Saint-Mars was to make it clear to him that he was obliged to be faithful not to Foucquet, but to the king.19
While the damaged buildings of the donjon were being repaired, Foucquet was transferred to the fortress of la Pérouse, some eighteen kilometers to the west of Pignerol.20 A year later, he was returned to the newly repaired Angle Tower, and two valets, Champagne and La Rivière, were moved in with him with instructions to keep an eye on the prisoner and each other. Of these two men very little is known. It has been suggested that Champagne and La Rivière were the noms de guerres of soldiers, and that they had been seconded to Foucquet’s service from their regiment.21 However, there is nothing to indicate that either of these two men were soldiers; instead, they appear to have originally been valets in the service of Saint-Mars, who were then placed with Foucquet.
Now, three years later, the contrast between the living conditions of each of Saint-Mars’s prisoners could not have been more marked. Foucquet was allowed books to read; while previously he had been given one book at a time, he could now have two. Saint-Mars was also authorized to give him news of what was going on outside. Despite these privileges, Foucquet continued to defy his jailer. He persisted in making his own writing materials and using them to record his thoughts on his fine handkerchiefs and napkins that he then concealed inside a special, hidden pocket he had sewn into the seat of his breeches. At night, Saint-Mars would quietly enter Foucquet’s apartment and conduct a search, confiscating any writing he found and sending it back to the king.
For Eustache, now three weeks into his imprisonment, the empty shell of his life had fallen into a steady if desolate routine. Once each morning he saw his jailer, who brought him enough food to last until his next visit. Occasionally Saint-Mars would make a search of the cell and the prisoner, but then there would be no further contact and no conversation until the procedure was repeated the following morning. There was nothing to break the dreariness of the long hours Eustache would spend alone.
There was, however, some respite even in Eustache’s unhappy existence. He was allowed the comfort of a book of prayers as well as any other book he might ask for.22 On Sundays and feast days, he was allowed to hear mass. This would normally be said in the Chapel of Saint George in the northeastern tower of the donjon. Furnished with the sacred items and vestments necessary for the mass and other services, the chapel catered to the spiritual needs of Saint-Mars, his family, and staff as well as his compagnie-franche and other personnel attached to the garrison of Pignerol. According to Tallemant des Réaux, Fo
ucquet was allowed to attend mass here, where the need for security obliged to him to sit on a balcony separated from the rest of the chapel behind grated and curtained windows.23 As would be confirmed later by Saint-Mars, Eustache was also brought out of his strict confinement in order to attend mass in the chapel.24 Like Foucquet, Eustache was allowed to make his confession three or four times a year if he wished, but he could not see a priest more often than that unless he became dangerously ill.25
As the heat of the Piedmontese summer mellowed into a golden autumn, both prisoners became unwell. While Saint-Mars had obtained permission for doctors to come into the donjon to attend Foucquet, no such arrangements had yet been put in place for Eustache. Despite Eustache being so ill that Saint-Mars thought he should be bled, the jailer was reluctant to act on his own initiative and asked for instructions. Three weeks later, he received his answer. He should bring in a doctor to bleed the patient, adding that, should a similar situation arise in the future, he could arrange whatever treatment was deemed necessary without asking permission first.26
Although the precautions that were taken with Eustache might seem excessive and indicative of his being considered a serious security risk, the prisoner Louis was most concerned about was Foucquet. Like Eustache, the former superintendent was forbidden contact with anyone except Saint-Mars; unlike Eustache, he was attended by two valets. Foucquet bore his ordeal with great fortitude and he tried to make the best of his situation. Prison though it was, Pignerol was surrounded by spectacular views of forests and mountains set against clear blue skies. The pretty town with its red roofs and beautiful churches, which filled the air with the sound of bells every Sunday, bustled below. Foucquet accepted that he would never be allowed to go outside, so he asked Saint-Mars if he could have lunettes d’approche, or a telescope, in order to enjoy as far as he could the beauty of the surroundings that now comprised his entire world. Louis regarded this request with suspicion, while Louvois believed that Foucquet really wanted to use the telescope “ ‘for something contrary to His Majesty’s service.”27 The request was denied.
The Man in the Iron Mask Page 2
