Marie-Madeleine, Foucquet, and Lauzun would eat together, served by Eustache and La Rivière, and when Lauzun returned to his rooms each evening, he would slip through the hole he had made by the chimney each night and pay court to the fair Mademoiselle Foucquet. Foucquet, constantly unwell by now, did not at first notice the antics of this insolent man. When he did, he was deeply upset and insulted by such blatant disrespect. From that point on he refused to allow Lauzun to visit his apartment or to walk with him in the citadel grounds. As to the hole by the chimney, it was neglected and then forgotten. Saint-Mars and Louvois puzzled over the acrimony that now existed between the two prisoners, at a loss to explain what might have happened.
Of course, the families of Foucquet and Lauzun remained unaware of this unhappy turn of events. For them, the king’s softening attitude toward the imprisonment of their loved ones led them to hope that the next step would be freedom, that Louis would show clemency and release his prisoners, who had suffered too long under such harsh conditions. Fate, however, was not to be so kind, and what happened next would destroy the cherished hopes of one of these unlucky families.
EIGHT La Tour d’en bas
Everything changed on March 11, 1680. Louvois’s secret informer at Pignerol had discovered that Foucquet and Lauzun had been communicating without Saint-Mars’s knowledge, and therefore without his permission or supervision, and he reported this fact to his master. The minister immediately sent orders to Saint-Mars to look into the matter. Louvois was anxious to know if the report had any substance, and if so, Saint-Mars was to let him know what he discovered.1
Saint-Mars, who was angry at the thought of having been taken for a fool by his two highest-ranking prisoners, men he thought he could trust, set about his investigation, determined to show he was no dupe. Overturning furniture, pulling up mats and carpets, and tearing down tapestries, he searched Foucquet’s apartment and Lauzun’s rooms. No corner was left undisturbed until, at last, he came to the chimney. Surely no one could dig in there, not with all the soot, the ashes, and the heat of the fire, but then he discovered the hole that Lauzun had made.
He confronted his prisoners, demanding an explanation. Lauzun’s reaction is unrecorded, but for Foucquet, the consequences of such a turn of events were devastating. He had reached the point where he could reasonably have nurtured the hope that Louis might at least be contemplating allowing him to go free; in the face of Saint-Mars’s discovery, he must have realized that such a longed-for dream must now be out of the question. Already in ill health, it is believed by some that the shock of this confrontation and the realization of what it must mean hastened Foucquet’s death.2 The ex-superintendent went into a rapid decline, and he died on March 23.
So it was that on a spring day in early April 1680 that Madame de Sévigné wrote to her daughter to make an unhappy announcement: “My dear child, the poor M. Foucquet is dead, I am touched.”3 These pithy, unemotional, and somewhat distant words of the lady who had once been one of Foucquet’s closest friends, and who had recorded the events of his trial in a series of deeply emotional letters, are in marked contrast to the flurry of activity that now took place in faraway Pignerol.
Within the shadowy confines of the donjon, much was going on. Foucquet’s son, the vicomte de Vaux, had returned some time earlier, and now he and Mlle Foucquet moved unchecked and unsupervised in and out of their late father’s apartments. More seriously, they sorted through and removed some of his effects.
Saint-Mars, meanwhile, made arrangements for his deceased prisoner to be laid to rest in the Church of Saint Clare. This was to be only a temporary measure, for the vicomte de Vaux had written to Louvois on behalf of his mother to request the king’s permission to remove her husband’s earthly remains from Pignerol. Louvois assured him that Mme Foucquet would have no difficulty in doing so; indeed, Louis had already issued the necessary orders.4
Saint-Mars had also taken up his quill and, in a letter dated March 23, had informed Louis and Louvois of the death of Nicolas Foucquet. This letter no longer survives, but its contents can be constructed from the reply Louvois sent several days later.5 It must have been with some trepidation that Saint-Mars confirmed that the minister’s informant had been correct and that a hole had indeed been carved out in the chimney that had granted Lauzun access to Foucquet and facilitated their clandestine nighttime conversations.
This was bad enough, but it was not the worst of it. The jailer adjudged “that Monsieur de Lauzun knows most of the important things that M. Foucquet knew and that the man named La Rivière is not unaware of them.” There is one name missing here: that of Eustache. The “important things” spoken of by Saint-Mars comprised Eustache’s secret: something Foucquet had already known, or that he had come to learn from Eustache, a secret he may have been made to swear to keep when Eustache was first appointed to serve him as a valet. Now, as a result of his visits, it was assumed that Lauzun had also become privy to the secret, while La Rivière, who shared his master’s living space, could not have avoided hearing it mentioned in conversation.
Louvois relayed Louis’s order that the hole in the chimney should be so well sealed that anyone subsequently working in the spot would never know that it had ever existed. Likewise, the staircase leading to the rooms used by Mademoiselle Foucquet was to be dismantled.
Lauzun, Louis decreed, must be moved into Foucquet’s old apartment on the floor above his own. This was more secure, and he would be subject to even stricter surveillance than before. Saint-Mars was required to make frequent visits to Lauzun, to search his rooms even to the point of shifting all the furniture in order to make sure this devious man was not doing anything he should not. Most importantly, Lauzun was to be persuaded “that the men named Eustache d’Angers and the said La Rivière had been set free.” Saint-Mars was expected to repeat this story to anyone who might inquire after the two men.
In reality, Eustache, a prisoner who had served as a valet, and La Rivière, who had never been a prisoner but had been employed as a valet, were ordered to be shut up together in one chamber. Their imprisonment was to be strict: Saint-Mars had to take care that they could have no communication with anyone, either by word of mouth or in writing. He also had to ensure that Lauzun would never be able to find out that they were still at Pignerol; it was vital that he should believe that Eustache really had been nothing more than a valet employed to look after Foucquet and that anything he might have heard to the contrary was pure fantasy.6
The furniture in Foucquet’s apartment officially belonged to the king; purchased for the use of a man of Foucquet’s rank, it was of good quality and was certainly not cheap. Now Louis simply told Saint-Mars to dispose of it as he saw fit. What became of the various pieces is not known, but it is probable that the wily jailer sold them for a reasonable price and pocketed the proceeds. He regarded it as one of the perks of his job to skim off a percentage of the money that was sent to him for the purchase of food, clothing, and whatever furnishings were deemed appropriate for each of his prisoners. In this way, he boosted his already considerable income. No sum was too small, and even the low-ranking prisoners, who were allocated 4 livres each day for their maintenance, would inadvertently make their own contribution to Saint-Mars’s revenues.
Louvois noted that the chevalier de Lauzun had been granted permission to visit his brother once again. This was to be a longer visit this time, but Saint-Mars was warned to ensure that the chevalier passed no weapons to his brother, or any implements that could be used as tools in an escape attempt.
The chevalier had also been given permission to eat in his brother’s apartment, but Saint-Mars was required to instruct him on how he was expected to behave before he would be allowed inside. Specifically, there was a strict timetable to which the chevalier must adhere. He could enter Lauzun’s apartment at eight in the morning on condition that he left at eleven. He could then return at two in the afternoon and remain until six in the evening during winter, or seven in summer. Such
a rigid timetable could not have been comforting to Lauzun, who must have despaired at the thought of his imprisonment continuing for several months at the least. The brothers could walk together outside if they wanted to, as long as they remained within the view of Saint-Mars. If he wished, Saint-Mars could accompany them, a safety precaution to discourage Lauzun from attempting to slip away. Louis and Louvois also suggested that, while Lauzun and the chevalier were out walking, Saint-Mars should take the opportunity to search his prisoner’s apartment to ensure that there were no concealed weapons or tools. Quite how Saint-Mars was expected to do this while he was also walking the courtyard and ramparts of the donjon the king and his minister did not elaborate; fortunately, Saint-Mars could rely on the assistance of his lieutenants.
Lastly, Louvois cautioned Saint-Mars not to enter into any discourse or confidence with Lauzun regarding what he might have learned during his conversations with the late Foucquet, adding the warning: “The more pliant and obliging he is to you, the more care you must take to guard him, because no man in the world in more capable of dissimulation than he.”
For a time, despite the king’s orders to the contrary, Lauzun continued to live in his own apartment, on the second floor below the rooms that had been occupied by Foucquet. Now a new directive arrived, reiterating the previous order that the prisoner must be moved, but there was a problem. The defiant Lauzun stubbornly insisted that he wanted to remain where he was. This surprised Saint-Mars, who noted that Lauzun’s apartments were damp. He asked Louvois for more men for his compagnie-franche to help him guard his most difficult prisoner. Louvois replied that Louis felt that there were already enough personnel to cope with Lauzun.7
A month came and went and Lauzun still proved reluctant to move into Foucquet’s old apartment. By way of compromise, he asked if he could have Mlle Foucquet’s old rooms instead, a request that was emphatically denied. Perhaps Lauzun feared that Foucquet’s old rooms were too secure and that he would never be able to mount another escape attempt. Whether or not this was the case, Saint-Mars had to force him to vacate the rooms he had occupied for more than eight years and move upstairs. As compensation, he was allowed to choose which of the rooms he would use for his bedroom. However, within weeks, Saint-Mars requested permission to change Lauzun’s valet.8 As he had done before, it is probable that Lauzun had won over his servant, and now Saint-Mars worried that the two might be plotting another escape. He received permission to withdraw the valet, who was to be made to understand that, should he ever approach within ten leagues of Pignerol, he would immediately be arrested and sent to the galleys.9
Saint-Mars’s problems were far from over. It was well known that Foucquet had passed some of his time writing. He had produced many poems and works of devotion, and had translated passages of the Bible, particularly Psalm 118.10 Louvois made reference to these writings, many of which, so Saint-Mars had told him, had been taken away by the vicomte de Vaux. Louvois soundly rebuked the jailer for having allowed this to happen, and ordered the papers to be confiscated and the young man to be locked up inside an apartment within the donjon.11 Saint-Mars obeyed, but as he cleared away the late prisoner’s remaining effects, he discovered some more papers hidden inside one of the dead man’s pockets. Perhaps fearing another reprimand, he hesitated to inform Louvois of this latest discovery but, in the end, he had no choice. Louvois duly told him to send the papers in a packet to the king, along with those he had removed from Vaux.12 Saint-Mars sent only one sheet of paper and had to be reminded to send the rest a few days later.13
By the third week in June, with the papers found in Foucquet’s pocket still not forthcoming, Louvois once more asked Saint-Mars to send the documents to him: “As regards the loose sheet, which accompanied your letter of the 8th, you were wrong not to inform me of its contents from the first day that you knew of it. Moreover, I pray you to send, in a packet, what you have found in the pockets of monsieur Foucquet, so that I can present it to His Majesty.”14
What Saint-Mars found in Foucquet’s pocket and what might have been written on the loose sheet must remain a mystery. As has been seen, Foucquet was adept in making invisible ink, so Louis might have feared that his former minister had written secret messages on the paper. Yet, surely after the many years he had been in prison—four years during his interrogations and trial and a further fifteen at Pignerol—whatever secrets Foucquet knew were no longer of any worth. Perhaps Louis and Louvois feared that any message left by Foucquet, whether or not it was written in invisible ink, might have concerned Eustache.15 As tempting as it is to speculate, there is simply no way of knowing what was written on the loose sheet Saint-Mars found in Foucquet’s pockets, but from what is known about Foucquet’s character as an honest and loyal servant to Louis, and the innocent and devout nature of his prison writings, it would be surprising indeed if he left anything that would be detrimental to the service of the king.
On July 10, 1680, Louvois wrote to Saint-Mars concerning “the prisoners in the lower part of the tower”16 who were to be allowed to confess once a year. Matthioli was also mentioned under his prison name of Lestang. He was clearly still very ill, but Louvois had little sympathy. Indeed, he wondered at Saint-Mars’s patience “and that you should wait for an order to treat such a rascal as he deserves, when he is wanting in respect to you.”
This letter, as with the others he sent to Saint-Mars, was actually written by a secretary at Louvois’s dictation. Once complete, it was handed back to Louvois, who would sign it in the usual way before sealing it and handing it to his courier. On this occasion, however, the minister wrote one final paragraph in his own hand: “Send me word how it has happened that the individual named Eustache has been able to do what you have sent me word of, and where he got the drugs necessary for the purpose, as I cannot think you would have furnished them to him.”
This mysterious passage has been taken to indicate that Eustache had poisoned Foucquet.17 This theory is informed by inconsistencies surrounding the reports of the death. Specifically, there appears to have been some disagreement about the cause of death. Memoirist Bussy-Rabutin stated that Foucquet had died of apoplexy,18 an opinion that is supported by the official account as published in the Gazette.19 Mme de Sévigné, on the other hand, wrote that “there would be much to say” about Foucquet’s final illness, the symptoms of which she described as “convulsions and sickness without being able to vomit.”20 Even though she did not say so openly, she certainly appears to be speculating that the cause of death might have been poisoning.
This is hardly surprising. The fear of poison was ever present. Many years previously, as Foucquet was making his way to Pignerol, some of his friends expressed fears that he might be poisoned; indeed, the news that he had taken ill on the journey provoked cries of “What, already?”21 The physician Gui Patin believed that this had, in fact, been Louis’s prime motive in choosing the fortress at Pignerol as Foucquet’s jail; “When we are between four walls,” he wrote, “we cannot eat what we want, and sometimes we eat more than we want.” He noted that the countryside surrounding Pignerol produced truffles and mushrooms, which, when mixed into sauces could be “dangerous to our Frenchmen, when they are prepared by Italians.”22
More recently, a consignment of tea was sent to Foucquet, but before it was given to him, Saint-Mars was required to decant the contents of the box into another container to ensure that the prisoner received only tea and nothing else.23 No doubt Louvois was more concerned that a weapon might have been hidden among the tea leaves, but there was always the fear that the tea itself might have been laced with poison. Saint-Mars, whose considerable experience as a jailer had taught him not to be surprised at anything, would have been alive to this possibility since one of his earlier prisoners, Plassot, was discovered to have had a supply of poisons among his belongings upon being released in July 1673.24
Patin was right to imply that no precaution would afford complete protection to a prisoner if someone were determined to murd
er him, but who would want to kill Foucquet and why? A clue might be found in a letter written by Bussy-Rabutin to a friend: “You know, I think, about the death from apoplexy of M. Foucquet at the time he had permission to go to the waters at Bourbon. This permission has come too late; bad fortune has advanced his years.”25 That Bussy-Rabutin thought that Foucquet was to be allowed to take the healing water treatments at Bourbon was as remarkable as it was unexpected, for it would almost certainly have marked the first steps of the former superintendent’s journey to freedom.
Bussy-Rabutin, however, was not the first to speculate upon Foucquet’s imminent release; rumors of it had circulated for some time, most notably when Lauzun was arrested in 1671. Many had thought that Lauzun’s ruin would have occasioned Foucquet’s recall, even though the two events had no connection whatsoever.26 Although the rumor mill had quieted since that time, it had been given a new lease of life in recent days. The ever-vigilant Bussy-Rabutin noted in a letter dated March 4, 1680, that he had heard that someone had been sent to fetch Foucquet out of prison.27 Five days later, he wrote of a strong rumor that insisted that Foucquet was to leave Pignerol and return to Paris, much to the excitement of his friends, who longed to see him set free and returned to them. In the event, one of the Foucquet brothers did return from Pignerol; it was not Nicolas, but the bishop of Agde, who had received permission to attend the reading of the will of another brother, Basile, who had died some weeks earlier.28 At that point, Nicolas Foucquet remained in his apartment at Pignerol attended by his two valets, La Rivière and Eustache.
The Man in the Iron Mask Page 12
