Before long Racine had found consolation with a new mistress. This was the actress Marie Champmesle, a married woman who, like her predecessor, took other lovers besides Racine. Perhaps he tolerated this because she was a brilliant interpreter of his work, who successively played the leading female roles in Iphigenia, Britannicus, Bérénice, Mithridrate and Phèdre. However, in 1677 Racine had given up his career as a dramatist, and not merely out of pique at the mixed reception accorded to Phèdre. In moralists’ eyes the whole world of the theatre was inherently sinful and Racine, whose values had been shaped by his strict education at the religious community of Port Royal, could never free himself from the sense that his occupation was unworthy and degrading. When he had become a playwright his revered aunt had written deploring his association with people ‘whose name is abominable to all persons who have the slightest piety, and with reason’. Racine’s conscience had also been troubled when the polemicist Desmarets de Saint-Sorlin denounced the authors of verse plays as poisoners of the soul rather than the body, who were guilty of innumerable ‘spiritual homicides’.55
According to his son, Racine ultimately came to accept that playwrights were truly ‘public poisoners’ and that, in view of his exceptional talent, he was ‘the most dangerous of all’. As a result, when the King offered him the well-paid post of Historiographer Royal in September 1677, Racine acclaimed this as a ‘favour from God, who had procured him this important post to detach him entirely from poetry’.56 It was, of course, ironic that Racine believed his new career would bring him spiritual redemption when others saw the court as an even more corrupt environment than the artistic circles in which he had formerly moved, but such was his perception.
Racine now repudiated his past completely. He became an accomplished courtier, adept at delivering polished compliments to the King and the nobles he encountered. Somewhat curiously, he saw nothing wrong with drawing royalties from revivals of his plays but his wife, whom he had married in the spring of 1677, was never permitted to see or even read any of his works. He never deviated from his view that his life at court was far more worthy than the profession he had previously followed and he earned the approval of the Duc de Saint-Simon for having ‘nothing of the poet’ about him.57
Racine had become a figure of the utmost respectability but la Voisin threatened all that when she maintained that the man who acknowledged that his work had poisoned minds was a poisoner in the literal sense. Admittedly, her justification for this was absurdly slight. Having proclaimed herself to have been a great friend of Thérèse Du Parc, la Voisin complained that during the actress’s final illness, Racine had denied her access to the dying woman. La Voisin then alleged that at the time it had been rumoured that Racine had poisoned la Du Parc and that his behaviour had inclined her to believe this. It was her contention that Racine had secretly married la Du Parc, but he had remained ‘jealous of everyone and particularly of her, Voisin’, until this had finally driven him to murder. La Voisin described indignantly how, as Mlle Du Parc lay dying, Racine had hovered at the bedside, ignoring his mistress’s pleas to be allowed to see la Voisin. In support of her claims la Voisin observed that Thérèse Du Parc’s daughters by Gros René had stigmatised Racine as ‘the cause of their misfortune’, though as they had been aged nine and ten at the time of their mother’s death this was not as significant as it might seem. She further alleged that once la Du Parc was dead, Racine stole her jewels.58
The fact that la Voisin stated that Thérèse Du Parc had also vainly begged Racine to summon to her sickbed her chambermaid Manon, who had been trained as a midwife, has given rise to another theory. After Racine’s death his great friend Boileau told a biographer that Mlle Du Parc had died ‘in childbirth’, prompting speculation that, having become pregnant by Racine, she either did not survive labour or, alternatively, suffered fatal complications following an abortion. However, this does not seem very likely. It is, in fact, possible that in May 1668 Thérèse Du Parc had a child by Racine, who was brought up by foster-parents,59 but since she lived for six months more this does not vindicate Boileau’s assertion.
Furthermore, the fact that Mlle Du Parc was accorded a funeral service in the church of Saint-Roch, prior to being buried in the cemetery of a Carmelite convent, militates against the idea that the circumstances surrounding her death were in any way irregular. In seventeenth-century France all those who earned their living on the stage were under such a stigma that the Church refused to administer the last rites to actors unless they promised never to perform again even in the event of their recovery. Those who declined to do so died unshriven and could not be buried in hallowed ground. Years later Racine would be very censorious when he heard that his former leading lady Marie Champmesle was proving reluctant to renounce her stage career, despite being stricken by terminal illness. Sneering that apparently ‘she found it very glorious to die an actress’, he expressed the sanctimonious hope that she would repent once she realised that death was imminent, ‘as most people usually do who put on proud airs when they are feeling well’.60 Clearly Thérèse Du Parc had made a full confession on her deathbed and had been granted absolution, for otherwise no priest would have officiated at her funeral.
The evidence that Racine had been responsible for Thérèse Du Parc’s death could hardly have been more risible. While proof of association with la Voisin might be considered legitimate grounds for suspicion, in Racine’s case it was the fact that he had refused to have anything to do with her that was adduced against him. Nevertheless, la Voisin’s testimony was treated seriously. On 11 January 1680 Louvois told Bezons that if he so desired a warrant for Racine’s arrest would immediately be issued by the King.61 In the event, however, good sense prevailed and Racine was never taken into custody.
* * *
Mme Voisin had excelled herself by alleging that France’s greatest dramatist was a murderer, but Lesage now effectively trumped her by unveiling claims that were still more disturbing. The names of various priests had already featured peripherally in the inquiry. As more had become known about Mariette’s past activities, orders had been given for the priest’s arrest in September 1679, although he was not actually found until several months later. While the search was still in progress, there had been ominous signs that Mariette had not been alone in defiling his sacerdotal office. When questioned about some other priests, including a pair named Huet and Henault, Lesage had suggested that they too had been involved in dubious activities. However, he did not specify in what way they might have profaned their calling, confining himself to saying that he believed that they had worked with Mariette on ‘matters of consequence’.62 It was only in late November that Lesage became more explicit, providing the first real intimation that there were several priests in Paris who, far from striving to bring their flock nearer to God, preferred to act as instruments of the devil.
On 16 June la Voisin had mentioned that she had introduced Lesage to her husband’s confessor, Gilles Davot, who was a priest at her local church. Lesage had asked him to bless the hazel wands he used when performing spells and also to supply him with wax from candles burnt on the altar while mass was celebrated. Davot had complied, saying he saw no harm in this, but his readiness to help Lesage had led to his arrest on 12 July.63 On 28 November Lesage made a statement indicating that Davot had done much more for him than had earlier been alleged.
Lesage admitted he had suborned Davot to say masses for clients of his, some of whom wanted to conclude advantageous marriages, whereas others were hoping for the death of a designated person. To bring this about Davot would pass a note under the chalice as it was elevated during the consecration of the sacraments. Lesage did his best to underplay the significance of this. He stressed that doing such things had been ‘in no way his idea’ but were rather ‘in the old style of la Voisin’ who, together with Mariette, had first conceived of this procedure.
To try to distract attention from the services that Davot had rendered him, Lesage now alleged
that the priest had engaged in far worse acts in conjunction with la Voisin. He said he had it on their authority that la Voisin had frequently prevailed on Davot to say mass in her lodgings ‘for various affairs’. On one such occasion the ceremony had been performed in la Voisin’s house ‘on the stomach of a girl … and Davot also said that he had had carnal knowledge of her and that, while saying mass, he kissed her private parts’. Lesage said he believed there were witnesses to this incident (though for the time being he could not think of their names) and that Davot was not the only priest who had committed such outrages. In particular, he believed a priest named Gerard had done similar things.64 As Lesage had calculated, these new allegations propelled the inquiry into a fresh dimension of horror.
* * *
At his own request the King had been kept fully informed of the progress of the inquiry. His initial shock on learning of the allegations against Luxembourg and Feuquières had only been compounded when he had been informed that several ladies with whom he was well acquainted had subsequently been implicated in the investigation. On 16 October, after Lesage had made his attack on the Duchesse de Vivonne, Louvois noted that the King had ‘listened … with horror’ when the latest reports sent by La Reynie had been read to him. Nevertheless, far from concluding that it would be best to draw a veil over such matters, the King had instructed that the inquiry must be pursued with the utmost vigour in order to obtain ‘all possible proofs against those named’ by Lesage and la Voisin.65
Nothing he had learned in the intervening weeks had shaken his resolve. Instead, each successive revelation had merely convinced him that the depths of iniquity had not yet been plumbed and that with further probing more evidence would emerge that people at his court had been involved in acts that were truly shameful. By 3 December some of the commissioners of the Chambre Ardente were anxious to proceed with la Voisin’s trial on the assumption that she had now told them everything of importance and was therefore expendable. The King, however, still considered this premature. He denied permission for the trial to start, evidently believing that la Voisin would yet prove a valuable source of information.66
For the remainder of the month the King pondered what action to take against those high-ranking persons who had been implicated, and after Christmas he reached his decision. On 27 December he summoned La Reynie, Bezons and MM. Boucherat and Robert, who were respectively the President and Attorney-General of the Chamber, to an audience at Saint-Germain. La Reynie later recorded that at this meeting the King urged them ‘in extremely strong and precise terms’ to uphold the law and do their duty, for it was essential that they ‘penetrate as far as possible into the wretched traffic of poison in order to cut it off at the root’. He assured them that nobody, no matter how grand, would be immune from prosecution, declaring solemnly that in the coming weeks he required them to exercise ‘an exact justice, without any distinction of rank, sex or person’.67
SEVEN
A COURT IN CHAOS
There were many people who believed that in 1670 the King’s English sister-in-law, Henriette-Anne, Duchesse d’Orléans, had been killed by poison. Her death had been officially ascribed to natural causes, but the distressing nature of her final hours, during which she herself declared she had been poisoned, ensured that this verdict had been received with widespread scepticism. It is impossible to know the King’s views on the matter. He certainly professed to accept the doctors’ findings but he may still have experienced occasional nagging doubts that poison had been involved. However much he tried to dismiss such fears, it would be understandable if the incident had made him more receptive to the idea that poison plots could pose a risk even to members of the royal family.
Henriette-Anne was aged only twenty-six at the time of her death. Married in 1661 to the King’s younger brother ‘Monsieur’, she was on very bad terms with her homosexual husband, who blamed her for the banishment of his favourite, the Chevalier de Lorraine, and was jealous of the fact that the King was using her as an intermediary to forge closer links with England. She had been in ill health for some time (the Duchesse de Montpensier said that in the weeks before her death she looked like a corpse with rouged cheeks) but even so, the suddenness and speed of the attack which carried her off meant that her demise came as a terrible shock to the court.
Shortly after drinking a cup of chicory water on the evening of 29 June 1670 Henriette-Anne had suddenly clutched at her side and collapsed in agony.1 Having been helped to her bed she lay there in terrible pain, repeatedly insisting that she had been poisoned. The devoted lady-in-waiting who had prepared the chicory water protested that she had drunk some herself without ill effect while Monsieur (who appeared as alarmed as everyone else and who betrayed no signs of guilt) demanded that some of the liquid should be tested on a dog to see if it was harmful. The physicians summoned to treat Madame stubbornly maintained that she was merely suffering from colic and gave her purgatives and emetics. They also administered oil to settle her stomach and various other dubious remedies such as powder of vipers. Despite their efforts Madame’s pains did not lessen and as she grew steadily weaker it became apparent that she would not survive the night. Towards midnight the King had an emotional last meeting with her, bidding her farewell with tears in his eyes. Subsequently the English ambassador came to her bedside and asked her directly if she still thought she had been poisoned. At this the confessor who was in attendance sharply intervened, urging, ‘Madame, accuse no person but make your death an offering of sacrifice to God.’ Dutifully Madame ‘made no other answer than by shrugging up her shoulders’, but this hardly allayed the ambassador’s suspicions.2 Only with her death in the early hours of the morning of 30 June did Madame’s torment finally cease.
The Savoyard ambassador, the Marquis de Saint-Maurice, claimed that after seeing Madame on her deathbed the King swore that, should it emerge that she was a victim of foul play, the crime would not go unpunished. ‘He said out loud that if this princess was poisoned … all those who could have had any part in it would be put to death with the harshest tortures. It is even said that he mentioned the Chevalier de Lorraine and protested that if he had been involved in this death through poison he would perish and his family would feel the effects of it.’3 However, no one else mentions such an outburst on the King’s part and it would certainly have been out of character for him to utter something so inflammatory at this sensitive juncture.
Because of the suspicious nature of her death an autopsy was performed on Madame, attended by doctors nominated by the English ambassador. When the first cut was made such an ‘insupportable smell’ emanated from the body that for a time it was impossible to proceed, but on resuming their task the doctors found that Madame’s liver and intestines were badly decayed, and that her lower belly, duodenum and gall bladder contained a great quantity of ‘extremely offensive’ bile. They found no evidence of poison: the King’s physician Vallot observed that if Madame had been poisoned the lining of her stomach would have been livid, but this was not the case. Instead, the doctors pronounced that ‘it was very boiling bile, very corrupt and malign and very impetuous which caused all the disorders in the aforesaid parts and gangrened them’.4
The English in theory accepted these findings but their ambassador still had reservations. He was not alone in this, for he noted that it was generally accepted at court that Madame had been poisoned and that the populace was also ‘riveted in this opinion’. According to the Marquis de Saint-Maurice, Queen Marie-Thérèse was among those who remained convinced that poison was responsible. Monsieur’s second wife, the German princess Elizabeth Charlotte of the Palatinate, would also subscribe to this view. She later alleged that her husband’s equerry, the Marquis d’Effiat, had poisoned the cup containing chicory water, though she believed he had done this without Monsieur’s knowledge.5
Less than two years after Madame’s death the King agreed that the Chevalier de Lorraine could come back to court. The English ambassador was furious, observing
in a despatch, ‘If Madame was poisoned, as is believed by most, all France look upon him as the person who did it.’ However, the fact that the King permitted Lorraine’s return indicates that he was satisfied the Chevalier had played no part in Madame’s death. One can dismiss Saint-Simon’s absurd claim that a senior member of the late Duchesse d’Orléans’s household had already told the King that Lorraine had sent poison to France from his exile in Rome. Without consulting Monsieur, the Marquis d’Effiat had then enabled the Comte de Beuvron, Captain of Monsieur’s guards, to poison the jug of chicory water. According to Saint-Simon the King was so relieved to learn that his brother had been ignorant of the plot against his wife that he decided to take no action against the culprits,6 but it is surely beyond belief that this could be so.
Though many people at the time could not accept that Madame had died from natural causes it is no longer feasible to entertain doubts on the matter. While the exact cause of death cannot be established definitively, there is no shortage of explanations for her symptoms, but no evidence has ever emerged to support the idea that she was poisoned. It has been plausibly argued that she died of peritonitis caused either by a ruptured appendix or a burst stomach or duodenal ulcer. Peritonitis could equally have resulted from bile causing minute perforations in the pancreas and seeping through it; if so, the doctors who at the time attributed her death to excess bile were, in essence, correct. Alternatively, an ectopic pregnancy or intestinal blockage could have killed her. It has also been suggested that through her great-grandmother, Mary Queen of Scots, Madame had inherited porphyria, a genetic disease which often proves fatal when it manifests itself for the first time.7
The Affair of the Poisons: Murder, Infanticide, and Satanism at the Court of Louis XIV Page 29