Although Foucquet, Lauzun, and their respective valets were allowed to go no further than the ramparts of the donjon, they could not have been oblivious to the beauty of Pignerol and the surrounding countryside. It was one thing to look upon it from their windows, although in Foucquet’s case he had to peer out through the mesh that obscured the view, it was quite another to go out into the dizzying fresh air and feel the cool breeze on their faces. It was now late autumn, almost winter, and Pignerol was swept by the crisp, chill air that blew from the snowy mountains on biting winds, while the torrents raged with icy waters far below, their roar competing with the everyday sounds of the nearby garrison.
It must be wondered: What caused Louis to soften his attitude toward these two prisoners? Perhaps it was because no further attempts had been made to rescue either Foucquet or Lauzun from prison, so both men could now be considered low risk. This was all the more so because each prisoner appeared to have abandoned his attempts to slip messages to the outside. Moreover, Louis was in good humor as the result of the successful progress of the Dutch War.9 Louis himself claimed that his change of heart was in response to a request from Lauzun to go out and take the air. As has been seen, Lauzun was ill with fever at this point, and, having asked this concession from Louis, the king was happy to grant it to his former favorite; but was there more to it?
Several months earlier, Louis’s mistress, Mme de Montespan, had traveled to the spa at Bourbon to enjoy the curative waters. Here, she met one of Foucquet’s brothers and his youngest daughter, who had also come for the water cure. Mme de Montespan took the time to chat with them “about the most delicate topics,” that is to say, Foucquet’s imprisonment, the separation and exile of his family and the hardship they were facing as a result.10 The following day, Foucquet’s wife arrived at Bourbon, and she was received with great kindness by the royal mistress. Mme de Montespan took the time to speak with the unfortunate lady, listening with “sweetness and an appearance of admirable compassion.”
Mme Foucquet expressed her hopes that God would grant her dearest wish, which was to be allowed to share her husband’s imprisonment as was her right as his wife, and that “Providence would give Mme de Montespan on occasion some remembrance and some pity for her misfortune.” This was no idle wish because, at that time, Foucquet’s mother was looking after Mme de Montespan’s son, who was staying with her in the country while the boy’s father was conducting business in Paris. As Mme de Montespan listened to Mme Foucquet’s sad story, she could not help but be deeply touched by it, and so it is perhaps no coincidence that, within a few months, Louis began to show a small but significant degree of clemency toward his state prisoners. However, while Louis had considered the needs of his aristocratic prisoners, he remained indifferent to those of lower rank. Of these, he had little concern as long as they continued to be held securely and that they gave as little trouble as possible to M. de Saint-Mars.
A year after granting Foucquet and Lauzun the liberty to walk on the ramparts, Louvois sent Saint-Mars the following letter:
I send you a letter from me, for Monsieur Foucquet, that the intention of the King is that you give it to him closed as you find it; that you carry ink, paper, a seal, and Spanish wax to his room, and leave it there for him to answer at his leisure, and that you address to me the sealed letter that he will give you for me. As the King finds it well that he should write to me from now on when he wishes it, you will give him as much ink, paper and wax as he asks you for. You will leave him the stamp which he used to write to me the first time; and when he gives you letters either closed or open for me, you will send them to me in the state he gives them to you.
This is the intention of the King,11
Enclosed with this letter, which was dated December 23, 1678, was one that Saint-Mars was to deliver unopened to Foucquet. It concerned another of the prisoners of Pignerol, Eustache, and its contents make for interesting reading. Addressing himself directly to Foucquet, Louvois wrote:
Monsieur, it is with great pleasure that I satisfy the order which it has pleased the King to give me to advise you that His Majesty is in a position to grant, in a short time, considerable amelioration to your imprisonment; but as he wishes to be informed beforehand if the man Eustache, whom you have been given to serve you, has not spoken, before the other valet who serves you, of how he has been employed before coming to Pignerol. His Majesty has commanded me to ask you this, and to tell you that he is waiting for you to notify me of the truth, without any consideration, so that he may take the measures that he finds most appropriate regarding what the said Eustache might have said about his past life to his companion. The intention of His Majesty is that you answer this letter in person, without indicating its contents to M. de Saint-Mars, to whom I am writing that the King desires he should give you some paper and [lacuna]. I sincerely share the joy that the beginning of this letter must give you.12
In this letter, Louvois originally spoke of what Eustache had seen before being sent to Pignerol, not how he had been employed. Rather than having committed a crime, Eustache appears to have become privy to sensitive and secret information, or had perhaps encountered someone or witnessed or otherwise learned something he ought not to have done. For this, he was captured, perhaps having been lured into a trap, and imprisoned on the very edge of French territory in order to ensure his silence.
The letter, with the erroneous phrase crossed out, was duly handed to Foucquet, who was provided with the necessary writing materials and given as much time as he needed to compose his answer. Having done so, he sealed his letter according to Louvois’s instructions and gave it to Saint-Mars, who then sent it unopened to Louvois.
Foucquet’s reply, which is dated January 6, 1679, does not survive, but another from Louvois, written in answer to it, does. In it, he wrote that Louis was satisfied with the information Foucquet had given. Clearly, the former superintendent had been able to assure Louis and Louvois that Eustache had not spoken of this secret to his colleague, La Rivière. As a result, Foucquet was to be granted certain privileges. Within a short time, he would be allowed to write to his wife and other members of his family as often as he liked. His letters were to be sent directly to Louvois, who would ensure that they would be passed on to the addressee. Louvois then added that, as Foucquet would already have learned from Saint-Mars, Louis expected him to take whatever steps he deemed appropriate to ensure that his valet, Eustache Danger, would have no communication with anyone other than himself; specifically, Eustache was to speak to no one in private. Indeed, Louis expected Foucquet’s cooperation in this matter because, as Louvois wrote, the former superintendent was aware of how important it was that no one should know what Eustache knew.13
Louvois’s letter suggests that Louis and he accepted that the former superintendent was aware of at least some aspects of Eustache’s past, with Louvois openly stating that Foucquet understood how important it was that no one should find out what Eustache knew. This could be interpreted as a veiled threat to Foucquet, warning him to keep a close watch over Eustache and guard his secret, or the king would make life hard for him again.
As Petitfils points out, however, this letter is important for several reasons.14 It shows that Louvois, the king, or both had renewed their interest in Eustache, a prisoner who has hitherto been almost forgotten. It suggests that what Eustache knew had to be hidden. It reveals that Eustache was privy to a secret that appears to be of great import, perhaps connected with something he had seen—a secret, moreover, that Foucquet knew prior to his imprisonment, or that he had subsequently learned from Eustache after he had entered his service as his valet. Foucquet was able to assure the king and Louvois that Eustache had not spoken about what he had seen prior to his arrest. He understood the importance of his valet’s secret, and his own silence was guaranteed.
Marcel Pagnol has argued though that Louis could simply have hanged Eustache rather than spend good money to maintain him in prison.15 However, executions did not just h
appen in the ancien régime.16 Not even Louis was above the law, and he was not able to break the law. Had this not been the case, Foucquet would never have been sent to Pignerol, but would have been executed on the Place de Grève instead.
Louvois followed up this letter with a reply to one from Foucquet, dated February 3. In it, the privileges that were to be bestowed upon Foucquet and Lauzun were summarized. They were, however, explained more fully in a lengthy document entitled The way in which the King desires Monsieur de Saint-Mars to guard, in the future, the prisoners who are in his charge.17
Foucquet and Lauzun were granted permission to write to their families whenever they liked; their letters, which would be addressed to Louvois, would be read out to the king before being passed on to their respective addressees. It was imperative, however, that they should not try to receive any news from outside other than through Saint-Mars. They were forbidden to receive or send letters other than through Louvois. They were, however, to be provided with any books and newspapers they wanted.
They were allowed to socialize any time they wished. This meant that they could spend their days together and take their meals together. Moreover, if they liked, Saint-Mars could eat with them. Here we see one of the niceties of the prison system: the preservation of rank. Saint-Mars the jailer, although recently ennobled, was of lower rank than either Foucquet or Lauzun. Even in a prison setting, in order for him to share their table, the two aristocrats had to invite him. They could also, if they desired, socialize with officers from Saint-Mars’s compagnie-franche.
While, previously, the prisoners had been allowed to walk on the ramparts of the donjon opposite their apartments and at limited times of the day, now they could walk whenever they liked. In addition, the space in which they could walk was widened to include the citadel, but only as long as certain security precautions were applied.
For Foucquet, this meant he could walk in the citadel as long as he was with one of Saint-Mars’s officers and accompanied by some of the sergeants or soldiers of lower rank. Lauzun, however, could not leave the donjon without Saint-Mars, two officers, and six armed sergeants or other-ranking soldiers. Louis was well aware that Lauzun was more capable than Foucquet was at making an escape attempt, and so Saint-Mars was told to make him understand that these men would kill him if he tried to get away.
The officers and soldiers of the compagnie-franche were allowed to converse with the prisoners, provided Saint-Mars or an officer could hear what was being said. Also, any officer of the citadel could accept invitations from Foucquet and Lauzun to visit them in their apartments, again on condition that there was always one of Saint-Mars’s officers present.
Louis expected that Foucquet and Lauzun would not deviate from this procedure: if they did, their privileges would be withdrawn and the security measures that were imposed upon them in the earliest days of their imprisonment would be reinstated. As usual, Saint-Mars was required to give the king a weekly account of everything that happened with regard to his prisoners.
Louis attributed his munificence, as before, to “compassion for the long punishment of these gentlemen,” whose imprisonment he wanted to alleviate. He held out the hope for more favors to come, promising that within a few months he would allow people from the town of Pignerol to spend time with Foucquet and Lauzun, and even that Foucquet’s wife and children would be allowed to visit him.
Louis, however, had not forgotten that Foucquet had been entrusted with the security of the imprisoned valet, Eustache. With so many people being allowed to enter his master’s apartment, as well as Foucquet being granted the freedom to go out into the citadel, the problem arose as to what do to with Eustache during these times. Louvois sent Saint-Mars Louis’s solution:
Whenever monsieur Foucquet goes down into monsieur de Lauzun’s chamber, or monsieur de Lauzun goes up to monsieur Foucquet’s room, or some other stranger, monsieur de Saint-Mars will take care to withdraw the man named Eustache and will not put him back into monsieur Foucquet’s room until there is no one but him and his old valet.
Similar precautions were to be taken whenever Foucquet took a walk in the citadel. Eustache had to remain inside Foucquet’s apartment, although La Rivière, who was not a prisoner, was allowed to accompany his master.
This was such good news that Madame Foucquet could not quite believe it when she was told her husband had been granted these privileges. Louvois wrote to her to confirm: “It is true,” he assured her, “that M. Foucquet is at liberty to see M. de Lauzun, to eat and to walk with him.”18
Two weeks later, Louvois wrote again to clarify several points.19 Louis, who had evidently been giving much thought to the security of Eustache, reiterated his wish to leave it to Saint-Mars to arrange with Foucquet “as you judge appropriate, regarding the security of the person named Eustache Danger, recommending you above all, to see to it that he speaks to no one in private.” In an astonishing turn of events, Foucquet, a state prisoner, was now placed in charge of another state prisoner, Eustache.
Regarding the visits Foucquet and Lauzun could make to each other’s apartments, Saint-Mars was ordered not to leave the doors of their apartments open so that they could move freely from one to the other; instead, Saint-Mars or one of his officers was required to escort them. They should then be left locked in together until an agreed hour, at which time they would be returned to their own apartment under escort.
By a similar arrangement, the officers of the citadel who wished to keep company with either Foucquet or Lauzun would have to be accompanied by another officer, presumably of Saint-Mars’s compagnie-franche, who would withdraw until an agreed time. Most important, during the time that the prisoners were out walking, the wickets of the citadel were to be kept firmly closed.
Within a month of these new orders being issued, it was discovered that Foucquet had received and answered a letter from his friend Gourville. This breach of security, however, brought none of the penalties that had been threatened earlier. Instead, Louvois merely sent a note to Saint-Mars warning him not to forward any correspondence to Foucquet that had not been sent in one of the minister’s own packets and that was not accompanied by a letter from him.20
In a further gesture of largesse, Louis authorized the removal of the screens that had been placed over the windows of Foucquet’s apartments. Once again the prisoner would be allowed to enjoy the warmth and light of the sun that streamed into his rooms, and to delight in the sight of the town and the mountains beyond the close confines of the donjon.21 As conditions were improving for Foucquet and Lauzun, and even for Eustache to a large degree, life continued in the usual way for Saint-Mars, who was preparing to receive yet another prisoner.
SIX Matthioli
Lying on the banks of the Po some seventy-seven kilometers east of Turin was Casale, the capital of the marquisate of Montferrat, a dependency of the dukedom of Mantua.1 Like Pignerol, Casale held strategic military importance and was coveted by the Savoyard court at Turin and by Louis XIV. It was the key to Milan, a city-state held by the Spanish, who had wrested it out of French hands in 1652 and held it ever since.
Louis had long been uncomfortable with the thought that one set of his enemies was in possession of such an important stronghold, and another was in such close proximity to it; but, while he had taken an interest in Casale, he had so far made no attempt to retake it. Instead, he had contented himself with expanding his territories to the north and east, sharing his father’s reluctance to be seen to be meddling in the affairs of the Italians, which could send them running into the arms of the Spanish.
On the other hand, Jean-François d’Estrades, abbé de Moissac, who was Louis’s ambassador to Venice, thought that the time had come for his master to acquire Casale. He saw the stronghold as a useful platform from which Louis might launch an attack on Milan whenever he saw fit to use it. At the same time, Casale provided d’Estrades with a means by which he might regain the king’s favor, after having recently incurred his displeasure. D’Es
trades knew that the Duke of Mantua was short of cash. He also knew that if the duke could be persuaded to grant the French the right to occupy Casale in exchange for a significant sum of money, the ambitions and desires of all three men could be satisfied.
Ferdinand Charles de Gonzaga, who was perhaps better known as Charles IV, duke of Mantua, was twenty-five years old and had inherited the dukedom of Mantua from his father at the age of only thirteen. Intelligent and cultured, he nevertheless preferred to spend his time in Venice, where he indulged his love of women and the theatre, and performing charitable works, all of which drained his purse. The business of governance he left to his mother, the regent Isabella Clara, who lived at the ducal palace in Mantua and was assisted by her lover, the comte Carlo Bulgarini, a Dominican monk.2
The court of Mantua, which was situated in Lombardy in Northern Italy, was a domain of the Holy Roman Empire and was riven by factionalism, a situation that had not gone unnoticed by the French. As d’Estrades observed in a letter to Louis, the council that was headed by the regent and the monk acted wholly in the interests of Spain. Still, the young duke “was not so abandoned to his pleasure, but that he still had some ambition,” and he was very unhappy about the state to which he had been reduced by the ambitions of his mother and his suspicions of the Spanish.3
The enterprising ambassador had conceived a project that would detach the duke from his mother, her lover, and his hated council, and induce him to enter “into the views” of Louis XIV, and in turn to come to some arrangement with France respecting Casale.4 The major difficulty in d’Estrades’s plan lay in establishing contact with the Duke of Mantua. Having studied with great care those in the duke’s entourage, he identified a man he felt would be the best person to act as intermediary. His name was the comte Ercole Antonio Maria Matthioli.
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