Sudden and singular Arrival of Lauzun in Fouquet’s Room--The
latter had known him formerly under the Name of the Marquis de
Puyguilhem--Lauzun enumerates his Dignities and calls himself
the King’s Cousin--Fouquet believes his Visitor mad--Portrait of
Lauzun--His Adventures--His Arrival at Pignerol--He continues
his Visits to Fouquet--The Stories he tells him--Noble Conduct
of Louis XIV. towards Lauzun--Audacious Method employed by the
latter to overhear a Conversation between Louis XIV. and Madame
de Montespan--Difference between the Conduct of Lauzun and that
of Fouquet--Lauzun’s Outbursts against Saint-Mars--Perplexity
of the latter--Singular Mode of Surveillance to which he has
recourse--Progressive amelioration of the Lot of the two
Prisoners--They receive Permission to see each other--Arrival of
Fouquet’s Daughter at Pignerol--Misunderstanding between Fouquet and
Lauzun--Cause of this Misunderstanding.
One day in the early part of the year 1672, Fouquet hears one of the
articles of furniture in his room suddenly thrown down, and perceives a
man of short stature and slender figure creep through a narrow opening
and advance smiling towards him. He is dressed in the full uniform of
Captain of the King’s Guard--blue, with red facings. Nothing except the
sword is wanting in this costume, the rich embroideries and brilliant
insignia of which offer a singular contrast to the place where it is
worn. The attitude of the new comer is haughty, and his air almost
patronizing. Fouquet hesitates to recognize in him a poor Gascon
cadet, the Marquis of Puyguilhem, without fortune or position, who
had sometimes come to him in the days of his power to borrow a little
money,[408] and who, extremely fortunate in having been received into
the house of the Marshal de Grammont, his relative, had cut a very sad
figure at court at the time of Fouquet’s arrest. What, therefore, was
the astonishment of the latter when his strange visitor, questioned
as to the causes of his detention at Pignerol, replies that they have
been set forth by the King in a letter addressed to all the French
ambassadors abroad.[409] Fouquet’s stupefaction is redoubled when he
learns that this costume is not a masquerade, and that the man whom
he had left in the lowest rank at Versailles is really Captain of
the Guard, and in addition Governor of Berri and Colonel General of
Dragoons, and that a brevet rank of General has been conferred upon
him. But when his visitor, continuing his confidences,[410] enumerates
his titles, and proclaims himself Count de Lauzun, Duke de Montpensier,
Dauphin of Auvergne, Sovereign of Dombes, Count d’Eu and de Mortaing,
and, finally, husband of the Grande Mademoiselle and cousin-german of
Louis XIV., Fouquet ceases to feel surprised. Everything is explained;
the speaker is mad; the tortures of a prolonged confinement have
unsettled his mind, and led him to take all these fancies for real.
Every one would have thought as Fouquet did, and this supposition was
certainly the most probable one.
Indeed, Lauzun, of whom La Bruyère has said, “that it is not permitted
to dream as he lived,”[411] encountered, in his existence of ninety-one
years, such diversities of fortune, such striking contrasts, such
unheard-of revolutions, that there are few heroes of the imagination
to whom one would have dared to ascribe similar adventures. Nothing
is more singular than the destiny of this Gascon cadet, reduced at
first to beg from the Surintendant, and then raised by Louis XIV. to
the highest dignities; suddenly shut up in the Bastille and succeeding
in issuing from it and marrying the legitimate granddaughter of Henri
IV.; afterwards commanding an army, and next a prisoner for ten years
at Pignerol; receiving his pardon, but refusing it; imprisoned for
the third time, then exiled, banished apparently for ever from the
presence of the King, whom he had coarsely insulted, and nevertheless
succeeding “in finding his way back to Versailles, by passing through
London,”[412] and there making a friend of James II.; fortune’s
favourite and victim by turns, without ever being enlightened by its
rebuffs, or satisfied by its favours! To obtain these he did not
hesitate at any baseness,[413] and the extreme audacity which he
sometimes gave proof of was all calculated. He had a certain boldness
of mind, but not of heart, for he was naturally mean. Nothing, unless
it be the servile humility of his beginning, equalled the insolence
with which he avenged himself for his early abasement. Addicted to
cruel raillery, prompt in witticisms,[414] he excelled in laying bare
and flagellating the absurdities to which he piqued himself on being
superior. “He is the most insolent little man,” says La Fare, “that
has been seen for a century.”[415] Devoid of dignity and endowed with
prodigious pliability, he did not hesitate to stoop to the lowest
parts, and succeeded in affecting the qualities in which he was most
deficient. But when, having gained his end, he threw aside the mask,
and became simply himself again, he inspired contempt. Of all the women
seduced by his jargon of gallantry and very deceitful appearances, he
did not attach himself to one, and the cousin of Louis XIV., over whom
he at first exercised so great a sway, died filled with hatred towards
him, and ashamed of such an unworthy husband.[416]
But, whilst Lauzun was at Pignerol, the illusions of this princess
had not yet been dissipated, and her love, increased by separation,
manifested itself in loud complaints, in violent scenes, and in
attempts to deliver him. Several times she sent agents to Pignerol, who
were to try to enter into communication with Lauzun. But they failed
in their enterprise, and were driven from the town and forbidden to
re-enter it again.[417] On his side, Lauzun, always and everywhere
destined to adventures, did not remain inactive. He thought he
might be able to escape amidst the disorder and trouble of a fire,
and with this intention set light to the flooring of his room. The
fire, soon perceived, was, however, at once extinguished. Incapable
of resigning himself to his lot, and of seeking some consolation
in study, Lauzun, breaking his furniture, gave way to all kinds of
outbursts and violence, but without succeeding in moving Saint-Mars.
Coldly impassible, the latter was equally insensible to the threats
of vengeance and to the insults of his prisoner. It was then that,
impelled by curiosity, the latter began, this time with patience
and without attracting the attention of his gaoler, to make in the
wall[418] a hole which should put him into communication with the room
situated above his own. We have seen that he succeeded in this, and how
he was received by Fouquet.
By the same route, and thanks to some precautions, the visits of Lauzun
were repeated. But, in continuing his confidences, he only confirmed
the idea of his madness.
It is thus that Fouquet, without putting faith in him, heard him relate
how to all the high offices he had obtained he had almost added one
still more elevated, that of Grand Master of the Artillery, and in what
manner he had avenged his insuccess. The King had promised him the
appointment, and, vain as thoughtless, Lauzun had hastened to announce
it, despite the secrecy agreed upon between them. Louvois, soon
informed of the projects of Louis XIV., succeeded in diverting him from
them by representing to him the disadvantages of such a choice. After
several days of vain expectation, the favourite, accustomed to please,
and hoping to be able to intimidate, watched for and seized upon a
_tête-à-tête_ with the King. He dared to call upon him to keep his
promise, and Louis XIV. having replied that he was released from it by
the indiscretion Lauzun had committed, the latter drew his sword, snapt
it in pieces, and exclaimed that he would no longer serve a prince thus
capable of breaking his promises. Pale with anger the King raised his
cane, but, suddenly mastering himself, he threw it out of the window,
saying, “that he should be very sorry to have struck a gentleman.”[419]
The next day Lauzun was taken to the Bastille.
Fouquet learned from him, without believing it any the more, a still
more audacious adventure. Lauzun had soon left the Bastille, and had
recovered the King’s favour. Beloved by Mademoiselle, he obtained
permission to marry her; but vanity again ruined him. Instead of
hastening such an unhoped-for union, he wishes to wait, in order that
sumptuous liveries may be made and that the marriage may be solemnly
celebrated in the royal chapel, in presence of the whole court, “and
as between crowned heads.”[420] He thus leaves the princes and
Madame de Montespan time to act, and Louis XIV., yielding to their
representations, withdraws the consent at first accorded. Lauzun, who
with reason distrusted Madame de Montespan, despite the assurances of
friendship she did not cease to give him, dared, in order to ascertain
the truth, to conceive a most dangerous project.[421] Taking for his
accomplice the waiting-woman of the powerful favourite, he slipped
under the bed a little before the King’s arrival, and, a witness
of their interview, he was able to convince himself that Madame de
Montespan was the inveterate enemy to whose advice Louis XIV. had
yielded. “A cough,” says Saint Simon, “the least sound, the slightest
accident, might have discovered this rash being, and then what would
have become of him? These are things the relation of which stifles and
terrifies one at the same time.”[422] Fortunately, Lauzun was able
to remain motionless. Meeting Madame de Montespan at the ballet, an
hour after the interview, he asked her in an agreeable manner whether
she had deigned to serve his cause with the King. She replied that,
far from having failed to do so, she had taken pleasure, as ever, in
extolling his services. Lauzun let her speak at length; then, suddenly,
placing his mouth to her ear, he repeated to her, word for word, the
conversation which she had just had with the King, and wound up by
calling her “liar, hussy, and jade.” Madame de Montespan succeeded in
mastering her confusion, but she never forgot this scene, and a year
after, uniting with Louvois,[423] she had brought about the fall of
the favourite and his despatch to Pignerol.
Fouquet listened to the narrative of these adventures, which were only
too real, as one reads an improbable romance. It was only much later
that he was convinced by his relations and friends of the veracity of
his companion in captivity. But during several years, not doubting his
madness, he resigned himself to listen to him out of courtesy, not
seeking occasions to see him, but carefully avoiding to contradict him;
behaving, in short, toward him as one does towards an unfortunate being
afflicted with a mild and harmless but obstinate mania.[424]
These two victims of fortune, reunited at Pignerol through such
opposite causes, and of whom one was not to leave the place alive,
whilst the other was to quit his prison to be again the hero of
singular adventures, supported their captivity in a very different
manner. “M. Fouquet only thinks of praying to God,” writes Saint-Mars,
on June 20, 1672; “he is as patient and moderate as my other prisoner
is furious.”[425] The outbursts of Lauzun had for their cause not
only the failure of his attempts at escape,[426] but also the very
arbitrary conduct of Louis XIV., inspired by Louvois. The ex-favourite
cruelly expiated the favours of which he had been the object. Not
satisfied with depriving him of his liberty, they tried in addition
to wrest from him the offices and the immense possessions that an
excessive generosity had heaped upon his head, but of which he ought
not to have been despoiled by means of the pressure easily put upon
a captive. Captain of the Body-guard, he received from Seignelay the
invitation to resign this post.[427] Endowed by Mademoiselle with
the county of Eu, the duchy of Aumale, the principality of Dombes,
and the estate of Thiers, he only recovered his liberty on condition
of renouncing all his possessions in favour of the Duke de Maine,
natural son of Louis XIV. and Madame de Montespan. At first he angrily
repulsed the proposition of Seignelay, and loaded with insults Louvois,
whose influence he recognized, and Saint-Mars, the interpreter of
Seignelay’s orders.[428] Little by little, however, calmness returned
to this spirit, till then so agitated and unquiet. Lauzun understood
with reason that everything ought to be sacrificed for liberty, and he
hoped one day to be able to return to that culminating point of fortune
from which his inconsiderate conduct had precipitated him, and which
he was in fact again to attain by a supreme effort of audacity. “At
court one must always take one thing with another; everything comes
in turn,” said Madame de Montespan to the Grande Mademoiselle.[429]
Lauzun ended by following this maxim, and, by resigning himself to
his lot, at length permitted Saint-Mars to taste some repose. ) The
unhappy gaoler had seen himself reduced, by his excessive scruples and
by the conduct of Lauzun, to the most singular extremities. Scarcely
had Fouquet renounced the hope of escape and given himself up to study
and prayer, than Lauzun had come to renew and increase the inquietude
of Saint-Mars. The ill-temper and despair of the new captive were such
that he behaved with the utmost violence[430] towards his gaoler. For a
long time insensible to his insults, Saint-Mars had at first submitted
to them with indifference; but this was soon no longer possible, and he
had to discontinue his visits. How then was he to execute the orders
received and exercise his surveillance? The unfortunate gaoler, too
much ill-treated to be able to revisit Lauzun, and too scrupulous to
leave off watching him, was in a state of extreme perplexity. His alarm
was increased by the impossibility of making his usual perquisitions,
and he was constantly representing to himself his captive imagining
and realizing a project of escape. He at length released himself from
this intolerable situation, but at what a price! For a long time
the subordinate officials of Pignerol perceived their chief gliding
stealthily amongst some trees that surrounded the donjon. Then choosing
the highest and thickest in leaf,[431] overcoming the infirmities of
age, and recovering for an instant the vigour of youth, he clasped the
gnarled trunk, climbed by degrees to the highest branches, and there,
hidden by the foliage, kept his eyes eagerly fixed upon Lauzun’s room,
from which coarse insults had banished him. From this elevated point he
observed the prisoner’s conduct without being seen by him,[432] and
thus reconciled the duties of his office with the exigencies of his
dignity. Surely never did a servant better merit the confidence of his
master; and Saint-Mars will remain without a rival amongst the gaolers
of all times.
This post of observation ceased to be impenetrable, as Louvois had
foreseen: “As the leaves have now fallen,” he wrote to Saint-Mars,
November 10, 1675, “you will no longer be able to see what M. de
Lauzun does in his room.”[433] But this fatiguing surveillance was
then rendered less necessary by the resignation and calmness of the so
long indocile captive. His submission to the orders of Louis XIV., the
proofs of a piety, more or less sincere;[434] the entreaties of Madame
de Nogent, his sister, and of several friends, obtained for Lauzun the
same favours that, for several years past, Fouquet had owed to the
accession to power of his friend Arnauld de Pomponne, and doubtless
also to the increasing influence of Madame de Maintenon.[435]
Since 1672 Fouquet had had permission to receive a letter from his
wife.[436] Less than two years afterwards he had been allowed to write
twice a year to his family.[437] Finally, from January 20, 1679, the
favours were multiplied, and the two illustrious captives obtained
all that could soften their situation. Louis XIV. authorised them to
have full liberty to meet, to take their meals, and to walk together,
to converse with the officers of the donjon, and to read all kinds of
books and gazettes.[438] Whilst Madame de Nogent and the Chevalier de
Lauzun received permission to come and visit their brother; Fouquet
had at length the happiness of seeing his wife, his daughter, the
Count de Vaux, his son, and the Bishop of Agde and M. de Mézières, his
brothers.[439] Alone and isolated for fifteen years, the Surintendant
had at last this supreme consolation, which, alas! he was not long to
enjoy. These different members of his family made a rather lengthened
stay at the citadel. But the prisoner’s daughter installed herself
there in a definite manner, and took up her quarters in rooms directly
over those of her father.[440] Almost immediately after her arrival,
Lauzun and Fouquet ceased to visit one another.[441] The cause of this
sudden misunderstanding is to be found in the gallant disposition and
enterprising audacity of Lauzun. The insolent favourite could not
recognize the devotion of Fouquet’s daughter, a voluntary prisoner,
and the touching victim of her filial affection. What passed between
these three personages can only be surmised, for no documents exist
respecting it. It is only known that, long afterwards, Lauzun paid
such frequent visits to Mademoiselle Fouquet in Paris, during which he
showed himself so familiar, that the jealousy of Louis XIV.’s cousin
was very strongly aroused.[442] It was the destiny of the Surintendant
to undergo every misfortune, and, at the moment when he seemed about to
receive some alleviation, to find suddenly in his daughter’s presence a
new source of grief and bitterness.
Was this grief at least the final one? did he die on March 22, 1680,
as has been said, or, to this expiation of his faults courageously
undergone during sixteen years at Pignerol must a still longer one be
added? Did Fouquet continue to drag on his miserable existence for
another twenty-three years, and was it to the Bastille that he went to
finish it obscurely, dead to all, his face hidden from the world, and,
as it were, surviving even himself?
FOOTNOTES:
[408] _Mémoires de Brienne_, vol. ii. pp. 195-197. _Mémoires sur
Nicolas Fouquet_, vol. ii. p. 237.
[409] In this letter Louis XIV. thought it right to explain why,
after having authorised the marriage of Lauzun with Mademoiselle, he
had withdrawn his word. The letter is dated December 19, 1670. It
is amongst the Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, section
France, vol. cxcii. p. 150.--See _Madame de Montespan et Louis XIV._,
by M. P. Clément, p. 32.
[410] _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol. xiii. p. 73.
[411] La Bruyère’s _Caractères_, chapter _De la Cour_. Lauzun is
designated in it by the name of Straton.
[412] Madame de Sévigné.
[413] M. P. Clément has given with respect to this a very
characteristic letter from Lauzun to Colbert. See _Madame de Montespan
et Louis XIV._, p. 30, note 1.
[414] He had given some very witty answers--that, amongst others, made
to the Regent, whom he had asked for an abbey for his nephew, the
famous De Belsunce, bishop of Marseilles. It was some time after the
plague, during which the prelate had behaved like a hero. Despite the
promise made to Lauzun, the Regent forgot to include his relation in
the distribution of benefices, and when Lauzun questioned him on the
subject, remained silent and confused. Lauzun, with a great appearance
of respect, said, “Monsieur, he will do better another time.”
[415] Saint-Simon, whose brother-in-law Lauzun had the good fortune
to become towards the end of his life, by marrying at sixty-two years
of age the daughter, aged sixteen, of the Marshal de Lorges, is more
indulgent for his relation, whose meanness, however, he does not try to
hide.
[416] Letter of Bussy-Rabutin, vol. viii. p. 265. of Monmerqué’s
edition of the _Lettres de Madame de Sévigné_; _Mémoires de
Saint-Simon_, vol. xiii. p. 83.
[417] _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol. xiii. p. 74.--Letters from
Louvois to Saint-Mars, October 14, November 15 and 22, 1672, March 16,
and November 23, 1676.
[418] Saint-Mars only discovered the hole in the wall after the death
of Fouquet:--Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, April 8, 1680.
[419] _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol. xiii. p. 70.
[420] _Souvenirs de Madame de Caylus._
[421] Racine, _Fragments Historiques_. _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol.
xiii. p. 69.
[422] _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, _Ibid._
[423] _Mémoires de Saint-Simon_, vol. xiii. p. 72. Segrais, a
contemporary, adds Madame de Maintenon to these two undoubted authors
of the second disgrace of Lauzun. (Segrais, _Mémoires et Anecdotes_.
[424] _Mémoires sur Nicolas Fouquet_, vol. ii. p. 450.
[425] Unpublished letter from Saint-Mars to Louvois, June 20,
1672:--Archives of Ministry of War, vol. ccxcix. fol. 48.
[426] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, June 16, 1676.
[427] Letter from Seignelay to Lauzun, November 9, 1672.
[428] Letters from Louvois to Saint-Mars, November 27, and December 5,
1672.
[429] _Mémoires de Mademoiselle de Montpensier_, vol. iv. p. 456.
[430] Letters from Louvois to Saint-Mars, November 27, 1672, and
January 16, 1674. Delort, _Histoire de la Détention des Philosophes_,
p. 43.
[431] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, November 10, 1675. Delort,
_Histoire de la Détention des Philosophes_, p. 43.
[432] It was then that he discovered Lauzun often had a telescope in
his hand, and it was taken from him.
[433] Delort, _Histoire de la Détention des Philosophes_, p. 241.
[434] Saint-Simon relates that for fear he should be imposed upon
with a false priest, to act as a spy upon him, Lauzun had asked for a
capucin, and that as soon as he saw him he seized him by the beard and
pulled it very hard, in order to assure himself that it was not false.
Saint-Simon says he had this from Lauzun himself. _Mémoires_, vol.
xiii. p. 73.
[435] _Mémoires sur Nicolas Fouquet_, vol. ii. p. 450.
[436] Letter from Louvois to Saint-Mars, October 18, 1672.
[437] _Ibid._, April 10, 1674.
[438] Letter of Madame de Sévigné, February 27, 1697. “Memorandum of
the manner in which the King desires Monsieur de Saint-Mars to guard
for the future the prisoners in his custody,” Jan. 20, 1679:--Archives
of the Ministry of War.
[439] Letters from Louvois to Saint-Mars, May 10 and 28, 1679.
[440] Letter from the same to the same, December 18, 1679.
[441] Letter from the same to the same, January 24, 1680.
[442] _Mémoires de Mademoiselle de Montpensier_, vol. iv. pp. 401 and
473; Delort, _Histoire de la Détention des Philosophes_, p. 52.