With the death of Champagne, Saint-Mars had once again faced the dilemma of finding another valet, a man who could stand in when La Rivière was unable to perform his duties. Previously, he had suggested he make use of Eustache, his prisoner of the tower, whom he knew to have been a valet before his incarceration. He was aware that Louis and Louvois had refused to allow Eustache to serve Lauzun, but they might agree to allow him attend Foucquet. He put down his reflections in writing and awaited the reply. This had arrived in a letter from Louvois, dated January 30, 1675:
I have received your letter of the 19 of this month and I have given account of what it contains to the King. His Majesty approves that you give the prisoner brought to you by the sieur de Vauroy as a valet to monsieur Foucquet; but whatever may happen, you must forbear from putting him with monsieur de Lauzun, or with anyone whomsoever than monsieur Foucquet.22
Louvois had signed off at that point, but he was concerned that he might not have made his point forcefully enough and added a postscript: “That is to say that you can give the said prisoner to M. Foucquet, if his valet fails him, and not otherwise.”23
Louvois could have had personal reasons for wanting to keep Eustache and Lauzun apart. The two men were lifelong bitter enemies. Louvois had opposed Louis’s decision to appoint Lauzun to the rank of grand master of the artillery. He was unfit for the post, the minister agued, and his appointment would cause friction in the ministry.24 Louvois was jealous of all the attention Lauzun received from Louis and his friendship with the king, but he also hated Lauzun because he was one of Colbert’s allies—Louvois’s ambition was to gain supremacy under Louis, which his great rival, Colbert, would be all too willing to frustrate. Louvois therefore persuaded Louis not to grant the post to Lauzun, and Louis, seeing the wisdom in the minister’s arguments, succumbed to his reasoning.
The enmity between Louvois and Lauzun also extended to Lauzun’s proposed marriage to Mademoiselle. Louvois opposed it primarily because Colbert was in support of it. Thus, the marriage became almost a proxy battlefield for the two factions. Later, as Louis was preparing to go to war against the Dutch, Louvois supported Madame de Montespan’s campaign to bring about Lauzun’s fall from grace.
If the minister had reason to deprive Lauzun of the companionship and service of a valet, Louis, too, had his reasons for wanting to keep him away from Eustache. Lauzun had once been a favored courtier, and Louis meant to release him one day. It would be safer for Lauzun if he knew nothing of Eustache and what he might have done in his past. For Foucquet, it was a different matter. Louis, at this stage at least, never intended him to leave Pignerol, so it was of no consequence if he were to learn whatever it was that Eustache knew, and so Eustache was appointed to serve him whenever La Rivière was unable to carry out his duties.
Two months later, Saint-Mars’s search for a new valet for Lauzun had still not been successful. Louvois told him that, if he were to find someone suitable, he could place him with Lauzun, but he was adamant that “you must not, for any reason at all, give him the prisoner whom the sieur de Vauroy brought you, who must serve monsieur Foucquet only in the case of necessity, as I have instructed you.”25
It was in the first days of February 1675 that Eustache was admitted into Foucquet’s three-room apartment. The differences between it and the dark and miserable cell in which he had passed the previous five years were striking. Instead of bare and damp stone walls, a cold, hard floor, poor furnishings, and one meager meal each day, he beheld before him all the comforts of home. There was good food and wine, with generous meals being served throughout the day, and there was a table covered with fine linen, beautiful tableware, glasses, and a cruet set; Eustache would share in the food that went uneaten by his master. A fire crackled and burned in the hearth, filling the apartment with warmth and a welcoming glow. The tapestries on the walls and rush mats on the floor added to the overall feeling of comfort, as did the warm and friendly smile of the ex-superintendent Foucquet, whose beautiful and costly garments contrasted markedly with his own cheap clothes. Yet, the screens that covered the windows left him in no doubt that, however luxurious, this apartment was still a prison. Nonetheless, Eustache could at last enjoy the company of a master who was renowned for his kind and gentle disposition.
As Eustache embarked upon a new life in Foucquet’s service, albeit intermittently, Lauzun, who had been very ill for several months, continued to languish. He had never been able to come to terms with his spectacular fall from grace, and now he had deteriorated to the point that it was expected he would not survive. A courier was dispatched to Paris bearing news of his imminent decease. Louvois wrote to tell Saint-Mars that he and Louis were assured that, while taking precautions for Lauzun’s security, “you will not fail to give him every possible facility for the recovery of his health as much as they will not be contrary to the King’s orders which you have in the manner of guarding him.”
Lauzun’s condition was such that Saint-Mars thought it prudent to request the services of a confessor. Lauzun, however, was afraid that any priest assigned to him might be an imposter sent to discover his secrets, and he declared that he would speak to a capuchin only. Even so, when the monk entered his chambers, Lauzun emerged from his bed, grabbed the man’s beard, and tugged it as hard as he could to assure himself that it, and therefore the monk, was genuine.26 By this time Lauzun’s health had improved somewhat, but his convalescence was to be a slow process, and Saint-Mars would only be able to report the patient’s full recovery that September.27
Despite his illness, Lauzun proved to be as enterprising in prison as he had been at court. Unbeknownst to Saint-Mars, he had spent several months digging a tunnel by which he hoped to escape his confinement and win back his lost favor with the king. Using any implement he could lay his hands on, he scraped away at the bricks and stones inside the chimney of his room, gradually making his way down until he reached a spot from which he would escape.
At the same time, he tunneled upward until he found his way into the apartment above. Here, Nicolas Foucquet continued to lead a relatively peaceful life with his valets and his books, his day filled mainly with acts of quiet devotion. It can only be imagined with what shock and surprise the former superintendent received the little man who suddenly and unexpectedly appeared in his chamber one dark night with soot all over his clothes and hair and staining the broad beam on his face.
Foucquet had known Lauzun in the days before his arrest, so there was probably a glimmer of recognition as he gazed at the apparition before him. This man whom he remembered as the young protégé of the maréchal de Gramont was more mature, certainly, but he had aged ungracefully, as Foucquet could plainly see, notwithstanding the grime that clung to him and obscured his features. The ever-confident Lauzun felt he had no need to introduce himself; he boldly strode toward the fallen minister and opened the conversation.
There was so much to talk about. In the fourteen or so years since Foucquet’s arrest, Louis XIV had become, as the fallen minister had anticipated, a magnificent and glorious king. He was in the process of expanding his territories and securing his borders, and he had fulfilled one of his most important kingly roles when he secured his dynasty and, therefore, the safety of his kingdom, with a hale and hearty heir. As he had grown in magnificence, Louis had cast aside the beautiful and delicate Louise de La Vallière, the love of his youth, and replaced her with the dramatically beautiful and sensual Athénaïs de Montespan. He had also engaged the combined talents of artists, writers, poets, musicians, and architects to celebrate his power and glory in the splendid display of court entertainments. The culmination of this was a new palace, the magnificent creation that was the château de Versailles. Foucquet must have known where the king had taken his inspiration for this: his own beautiful château de Vaux-le-Vicomte, the setting for one of the most brilliant parties of the century.
As for Lauzun, his life had not been an empty one, for he had risen to the prestigious military posts of genera
l of the dragoons and captain of the guards, and he had competed with the king for the affections of the beautiful Madame de Monaco.
Foucquet began to feel the first stirrings of alarm. After all these years in prison, shut up with only his valets for company and the visits of the ever-watchful Saint-Mars to break the monotony, he began to fear that fate had contrived to send him a fantasist as a companion. Any doubts he might have entertained about Lauzun’s madness vanished when the young adventurer recounted the story of his relationship with the king’s cousin, the much older Madame de Montpensier: how she had bestowed upon him not only her love but also her most lucrative properties, and how the king had at first given his consent when they asked permission to marry, but had then changed his mind before the wedding could take place.
It was at this point, according to the account written by Courtilz de Sandras, that Foucquet “could not refrain from turning to another prisoner of state who had come to join them and touching his forehead with his finger… he wanted to make him understand by that his less than good opinion of him who was speaking.” In other words, Foucquet used a gesture to convey to another “state prisoner” his thoughts that Lauzun had lost his mind. Lauzun, seeing this, chose to ignore it and continued to speak of all that had happened since the former superintendent had left the world, but his words merely confirmed Foucquet in his beliefs.28
Courtilz de Sandras does not name this mysterious “prisoner of state who had come to join them,” but it is certain that he could not have been referring to Foucquet’s valet, La Rivière. This man, about whom very little is known, was not a prisoner, but a professional valet appointed to serve a prisoner. It is thought that he had originally been a member of Saint-Mars’s own household and was assigned to Foucquet upon his entering Pignerol.29 In fact, Courtilz de Sandras could only have been referring to Eustache, who at this stage was the only other person, excepting Saint-Mars and certain members of his staff, who had permission to enter Foucquet’s apartment. Louvois’s insistence that Lauzun and the enigmatic Eustache should not meet had been rendered irrelevant by this clandestine but, as it would turn out, fateful encounter.30
Precisely when this remarkable incident took place is not known, but it was almost certainly not an isolated occurrence. Both Foucquet and Lauzun naturally kept the secret of their meetings, which most probably took place at night, while their valets knew better than to give the game away and place their respective masters, not to mention themselves, in jeopardy.
By February 1676, after three years of furtive and tiring work, during which the fear of discovery hung over him like a specter, Lauzun’s tunnel to the outside was finally complete.31 His first attempt to penetrate the outer walls of the donjon had ended in frustration when he emerged from his tunnel only to find himself inside a disused room, the bars on the windows of which seemed to mock his efforts. Refusing to give up this mission, and the hope of eventual success having buoyed him up throughout the three long years it had taken him to accomplish it, he continued to scratch and scrape at the bars and eventually managed to loosen one of them so that he could slip through. Then, using a rope he had made by tying several linen napkins together, he carefully lowered himself to the ground. “It was a miracle he did not break his neck,” wrote Mademoiselle, as she recounted the incident in her Memoires.
Lauzun finally touched ground and proceeded to scrape a hole in the wall, but, finding his way blocked by a boulder, he was obliged to find a new place to dig. Eventually he made a hole large enough to squeeze through, and he emerged to find himself in the courtyard of the citadel.
In the dim light of the winter dawn, he could see that the place was practically deserted. He slipped inside a woodshed, hoping to find someone whom he could bribe to open one of the citadel gates. Just at that point a serving woman entered to check on the wood stores. Lauzun offered her some money if she would help him, and she answered that she was engaged to one of the soldiers of the citadel and, if her fiancé wanted to help him and to escape himself, she would be happy to help. The fugitive then offered her all manner of rewards, but still she insisted upon involving her soldier. Not knowing the layout of the fortress, Lauzun had no choice but to wait anxiously inside the shed while the servant went off to find her fiancé.
Anticipation quickly turned to shock and dismay when, instead of the servant, a soldier arrived at the door of the shed accompanied by his superior officer. Ignoring Lauzun’s promise of riches to come if they would assist him, they instead summoned Saint-Mars, and the three of them escorted the hapless Lauzun back to his prison rooms.
Following Lauzun’s adventure, security was increased at Pignerol. Louis and Louvois sent a dispatch to Saint-Mars ordering him to make frequent visits to his prisoners’ apartments and to take the unprecedented step of changing all the furniture in their rooms: “You cannot take too many precautions,” Louvois warned him.32
More detailed instructions soon followed. Saint-Mars was to visit his prisoners’ apartments at irregular hours of the day. He was to give them only whatever linen he deemed absolutely necessary, while obliging the prisoners to return each used piece to him each day. In addition, he was to allow them nothing that could be used to bore holes, while the knives he provided them were to be strong enough to cut up food and nothing else. Even the firedogs inside the fireplaces had to be fixed so they could not be torn out. Saint-Mars, Louvois suggested, should also make tours of inspection at random hours during the night to ensure that his prisoners were not working at anything they should not.33
While Lauzun and Foucquet were subject to increased security measures, Lauzun’s valet was interrogated in an attempt to make him reveal what he knew of his master’s escape plot. The valet, however, proved himself more loyal to Lauzun than to the king, for he refused to divulge any information. Since he had converted to Catholicism, he was to be allowed to hear mass on feast days and Sundays, but for his recalcitrance, he was to be put on a punishing diet of bread and water until he told all he knew about Lauzun’s escape attempt.34
Other procedures were implemented with regard to the citadel as a whole: “You have learned by the letters he has written you,” wrote Louvois, “that the king approves that before the door to the citadel is opened, you should visit your prisoners; and in fact, this precaution is very necessary.” He then noted that a man named Lamy, for whom Lauzun had found a place in the King’s Bodyguard, had recently transferred into the service of Mademoiselle, Lauzun’s former fiancée, but had now disappeared from view. Saint-Mars was told to keep watch for him in case he should turn up at Pignerol. Similar fears were expressed for another of Lauzun’s friends, Barail, who Louvois thought might come to Pignerol in order to make contact with Lauzun.35 Louis, however, did not feel the need to appoint a fifth sub-lieutenant to augment the compagnie-franche, “the four you have being sufficient,” Saint-Mars was told. Nevertheless, Saint-Mars’s lieutenant, the chevalier de Saint-Martin, remained inside the donjon, doing his rounds each night.36
At some point prior to this, a mysterious man had gone to Louis XIV claiming to be in possession of some information about the Spanish Netherlands that the king might find interesting. Since Louis was about to embark upon a campaign in Flanders and the Franché-Comté, he certainly was interested, but it was not long before his interest darkened into suspicion. He had, he felt, reason to believe that this man was a double agent, and he refused to pursue the matter any further. Instead, he warned the man in no uncertain terms to have nothing to do with the Spanish.
This man is best known under the name Dubreuil, although he laid claim to nobility and was known to some as the comte du Breuil.37 Following his failure to arouse the king’s interest in the information to which he was allegedly privy, Dubreuil, about whom little else is known, went underground. It was not long, however, before he tried to contact Louis again, this time claiming to be in good relations with the general of the imperial forces, Prince Raymondo Montecuccoli. The mention of Montecuccoli’s name had the desi
red effect.
At this point, Dubreuil was living in the Swiss town of Basle, hiding out under the name of Samson. Louis ordered the prince de Condé and his adjutant, the comte de Montclar, who were currently commanding the French army on the Rhine, to make contact with Dubreuil. They were to offer him 200 pistoles and a “chiffre,” or code, with which he could secretly communicate the maneuvers of the enemy troops. It soon became apparent that Dubreuil was acting against the French and was passing information to Montecuccoli.
Louis ordered Dubreuil’s arrest, but because the spy was still on foreign territory, the French had to sit it out and wait patiently for him to cross the border where he could be seized. Louis had issued his order in February 1676, but it was to be a further two months before Dubreuil could finally be captured. He was taken by three officers and conducted to Neuf-Breisach before being moved on to Besançon. From there he was taken in stages to Lyon, where, he was given over to the care of the archbishop. In May, he was moved on to Pignerol.
Saint-Mars, meanwhile, had been warned to expect a new prisoner, whom he must guard securely. Louis had decreed that Dubreuil should be placed within the donjon of the citadel, where he would share a cell with the most recent prisoner. As usual, Saint-Mars was expected to keep Louis and Louvois informed about Dubreuil in regular news bulletins.38
The most recent prisoner referred to by Louvois was the Jacobin monk, Lapierre. This man, had, by this time, been a prisoner for some two and a half years. Kept in isolation, cruelly treated, and half-starved, he had lost his mind and was now violent and difficult to control and lived amid his own filth in his befouled cell. Dubreuil was understandably horrified at the prospect of being moved in with him. He pleaded with Saint-Mars to put him in a different cell, but the jailer had been given his orders and could not be persuaded, and so the spy and the insane monk were put in together. Dubreuil was to be allowed to hear the mass that was said for Foucquet and Lauzun on fast days and Sundays.39
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