'Whatever was he looking for?' I asked with a jolt of surprise.
Melani stopped and, singing with all his heart, intoned a sad air by Master Rossi:
Infelice pensier, chi ne conforta?
Ohime!
Chi ne consiglia?…*
Sighing, he adjusted his justaueorps, wiped his forehead and straightened his red stockings.
'Would that I knew what the King was looking for!' he answered disconsolately. 'But I must needs explain: there are still a number of things which you should know,' he added, after recovering his calm.
It was thus that, in order to make up for my ignorance, Atto Melani recounted to me the last chapter of the story of Nicolas Fouquet.
When the trial was over and he had been condemned to imprisonment for the rest of his days, Fouquet left Paris forever, bound for the fortress of Pinerol, his carriage making its way through the crowd which tearfully acclaimed him. He was accompanied by the musketeer d'Artagnan. Pinerol was situated in Piedmontese territory, on the border of the kingdom. Many wondered why so distant a place should have been chosen, and one which was, moreover, perilously close to the states of the Duke of Savoy. More than flight, however, the King feared Fouquet's many friends, and Pinerol represented the only way of removing him forever from their assistance.
As his gaoler, a musketeer was appointed from the escort which had accompanied Fouquet from one prison to another throughout the trial: Benigne d'Auvergne, Lord of Saint-Mars, personally recommended to the King by d'Artagnan. Saint-Mars was assigned eighty soldiers to guard one prisoner: Fouquet. He would report directly to the Minister for War, Le Tellier, Marquis de Louvois.
Fouquet's imprisonment was most rigorous: every communication with the outside world was forbidden him, whether oral or written: there were to be no visits of any kind or for whatever reason. He was not even permitted to take a breath of air within the confines of the fortress. He could read, but only such works as the King permitted, and one book at a time. Above all, he must not write: once returned, each book read by the prisoner was to be leafed through thoroughly by the faithful Saint-Mars, in case Fouquet might have annotated something or underlined some word. His Majesty charged himself with seeing to clothing, which was sent to Pinerol with each change of season. * Unhappy thought, / Who can give comfort for't? / Alas! / Who can give counsel?
In that remote citadel, the climate was hard. Fouquet was not allowed to walk. Constrained to absolute immobility, the Superintendent's health declined rapidly. Despite this, he was denied the care of his personal physician, Pecquet. Fouquet did, however, obtain herbs with which to care unaided for his health. He was also allowed the company of two of his valets, who had agreed out of loyalty to share their master's fate.
Louis XIV knew how fascinating Fouquet's mind was. He could not refuse him the comforts of the Faith, but he recommended that his confessors should be changed frequently, lest he should win them over and use them to communicate with the outside world.
In June 1665, lightning struck the fortress and caused the explosion of a powder store. There were many deaths. Fouquet and his valets jumped out of a window. The chances of surviving that leap into the void were minimal; yet all three emerged unharmed. When the news reached Paris, poems circulated which commented upon the occurrence and called it a miracle: God wished to spare the Superintendent and to show the King a sign of His will. Many took up the cry: 'Free Fouquet!' The King, however, did not yield; on the contrary, he persecuted whoever clamoured too loudly.
It was necessary to rebuild the fortress. In the meanwhile, Fouquet spent a year in the house of the Commissary for War of Pinerol, and then in another prison.
In the course of the work, Saint-Mars discovered among the ashes of Fouquet's furniture of what the Superintendent's intellect was capable. Louvois and the King were at once sent the little treasures of ingenuity found in the Squirrel's cell: notes written by Fouquet using a few capon's bones as a pen and as ink a little red wine mixed with lamp black. The prisoner had even managed to create an invisible ink and to find a hiding place for his writings in the back of a chair.
'But what was he trying to write?' I asked, shocked and moved by these pitiful stratagems.
'That has never been discovered,' replied Atto. 'All that was intercepted was sent to the King in great secret.'
From that moment onwards, the King ordered that he should be searched thoroughly every day. Only reading then remained to him. He was allowed a Bible, a history of France, a few Italian books, a dictionary of French rhymes and the works of Saint Bonaventure (while those of Saint Jerome and Saint Augustine were not permitted him).
He began to teach Latin and the rudiments of pharmacy to one of his valets.
But Fouquet was the Squirrel in all things: his astuteness and industry could not be bridled. Goaded on by Louvois, who knew the Superintendent well and could not believe that he would allow himself to be so easily defeated, Saint-Mars made a careful inspection of his underclothing. He was found to be wearing little ribbons of lace trimmings covered in minute writing, and many inscriptions were also found on the back of the lining of his doublet. The King at once ordered that Fouquet was to be issued solely with black clothing and undergarments. Towels and napkins were numbered so as to avoid the possibility that he might take possession of them.
Saint-Mars laid the blame on the two valets who gave him no peace with their requests and who always strove to favour their master, to whom they were devoted body and soul.
The years passed, but the King's almost obsessional fear that Fouquet might somehow get away from him in no way lessened. Nor was he mistaken: towards the end of 1669 an attempt to help him escape was found out. It is not known who organised it, perhaps the family, but it was rumoured that Madame de Sevigne and Mademoiselle de Scudery were not unconnected with it. The person who paid the price for this was an old servant, a moving example of fidelity. He was called La Foret, and he had accompanied the Superintendent at the. time of his arrest in Nantes. After the arrest, he had marched for hours and hours to escape the musketeers who had placed a cordon around the city. Thence, he reached the nearest postal stage, whence he rode with all speed to Paris in order to give the grim news of the arrest to Fouquet's pious mother. La Foret had even gone so far as to wait by the roadside for the carriage bearing his master to Pinerol, so as to be able to salute him for the last time. Even d'Artagnan had been moved, for he had the convoy stopped and allowed the two to exchange a few words.
La Foret was, then, the only person not to have lost all hope. He arrived at Pinerol in disguise and even succeeded in finding a number of informers within the fortress and communicating with his adored master by gestures, through a window. In the end, his attempt was discovered and the poor man was hanged immediately. Life became hard for Fouquet. His windows were barred. No longer could he see the sky.
His health declined. In 1670, Louvois travelled to Pinerol in person, sent by the King. After six years of refusals and prohibitions, Louis finally consulted the Superintendent's old physician, Pecquet.
'How strange. Did not the King wish to see Fouquet dead?'
'The one thing that is certain is that, from that moment on, Louis seemed to be concerned about the health of the poor Squirrel. Those of the Superintendent's friends who had not fallen into disgrace, like Pomponne (who had just been appointed Secretary of State), Turenne, Chequi, Bellefonds and Charost, returned to the attack and sent petitions to the Most Christian King. The turning point, however, came later.'
In 1671, the number of special prisoners at Pinerol grew to two. Another illustrious captive arrived at the fortress: the Comte de Lauzun.
'Because he had married Mademoiselle, the King's cousin,' I interjected, remembering Abbot Melani's previous account.
'Bravo, I see that you have a good memory. And now the tale becomes really interesting.'
After subjecting Fouquet to years of isolation, the decision to accord him a prison companion seems inexplicable. Even stranger is the fact that, in the immense fortress, he should have been given the cell next to Fouquet's.
Of Lauzun, all manner of things may be said, but not that he was an ordinary personage. At the outset, he was the youngest scion of a Gascon family, with neither fortune nor skill, a braggart and full of himself, who had, however, the good fortune to be liked by the King when the latter was very young and to become his boon companion. Although only a cheap seducer, he had succeeded in charming Mademoiselle, the very wealthy and very ugly 44-year-old cousin of the King. He was a difficult prisoner, and lost no time in making that quite clear. His attitude was tempestuous, bombastic, insolent; no sooner was he left in his cell than he set fire to it, also damaging a beam in Fouquet's cell. He then gave himself up to painful simulations of sickness or folly, with the clear
