All that was known about his attitude intensified public sympathy. The judges themselves recognized that he was incomparable; that he had never spoken so well in Parliament, and that he had never shown so much self-possession.
The last Interrogatory, that of the 4th December, turned on the scheme found at Saint-Mandé, and was particularly favourable to the accused.
Foucquet replied that it was nothing but an extravagant idea which had remained unfinished, and was repudiated as soon as conceived. It was an absurd document, which could only serve to make him ashamed and confused, but it could not be made the ground of an accusation against him. As the Chancellor pressed him and said, “You cannot deny that it is a crime against the State,” he replied, “I confess, sir, that it is an extravagance, but it is not a crime against the State. I entreat these gentlemen,” he added, turning towards the judges, “to permit me to explain what is a crime against the State. It is when a man holds a great office; when he is in the secret confidence of his Sovereign, and suddenly takes his place among that Sovereign’s enemies; when he engages his whole family in the cause; when he induces his son-in-law to surrender the passes and to open the gates to a foreign army of intruders in order to admit it to the interior of the kingdom. Gentlemen, that is what is called a crime against the State.”
The Chancellor, whose conduct during the Fronde every one remembered, did not know where to look, and it was all the judges could do not to laugh. The cross-examination over, the Chamber listened to the opinion of the reporters and pronounced sentence. On the 9th of December, Olivier d’Ormesson began his report. He spoke for five successive days, and his conclusion was perpetual exile, confiscation of goods and a fine of one hundred thousand livres, of which half should be given to the Public Treasury, and the other half employed in works of piety. Le Cormier de Sainte-Hélène spoke after Olivier d’Ormesson. He continued for two days, and concluded with sentence of death. Pussort, whose vehement speech lasted for five hours, came to the same conclusion.
On the 18th December, Hérault, Gisaucourt, Noguès and Ferriol concurred, as did Le Cormier de Sainte-Hélène, and Roquesante after them, in the opinion of Olivier d’Ormesson.
On the following day, the 19th, MM. de La Toison, Du Verdier, de La Baume and de Massenau also expressed the same opinion; but the Master of Requests, Poncet, came to the opposite conclusion. Messieurs Le Féron, de Moussy, Brillac, Regnard and Besnard agreed with the first recorder. Voysin was of the opposite opinion. President de Pontchartrain voted for banishment, and the Chancellor, pronouncing last, voted for death. Thirteen judges had pronounced for banishment, and nine for death. Foucquet’s life was saved.
“All Paris,” said Olivier d’Ormesson, “awaited the news with impatience. It was spread abroad everywhere, and received with the greatest rejoicing, even by the shopkeepers. Every one blessed my name, even without knowing me. Thus M. Foucquet, who had been regarded with horror at the time of his imprisonment, and whom all Paris would have been immeasurably delighted to see executed directly after the beginning of his trial, had become the subject of public grief and commiseration, owing to the hatred which every one felt for the present Government, and that, I think, was the true cause of the general acclamation.”
On the 22d of December, this same Olivier d’Ormesson having gone to the Bastille to give D’Artagnan his discharge for the Treasury registers, the gallant Musketeer embraced him and said: “You are a noble man!”
Foucquet, as a matter of form, protested against the sentence of a tribunal whose competence he did not recognize. And the sentence did not please the King, who commuted banishment into imprisonment for life in the fortress of Pignerol. Such a commutation, which was really an aggravation of the sentence, is cruel and offends our sense of justice. Nevertheless, one must recognize that such a measure was dictated by reasons of State. Foucquet, had he been free, would have been dangerous. He would certainly have intrigued; his plots and strategies would have caused the King much anxiety. The religion of patriotism had not yet taken root in the heart of the great Condé’s contemporaries. The strongest bond then uniting citizens was loyalty to the King. Foucquet was liberated from that bond by his master’s hatred and anger. It was to be expected that the fallen Minister would probably have conspired against France with foreign aid. These previsions justified the severity of the King, who throughout the whole business appeared hypocritical, violent, pitiless and patriotic.
The wisdom of the King’s action is proved by Foucquet’s conduct at Pignerol, where he arrived in January, 1665. There, in spite of the most vigilant supervision, he succeeded in carrying on intrigues. He could not communicate with any living soul. He had neither ink nor pens, nor paper at his disposal. This able man, whose genius was quickened by solitude, attempted the impossible in order to enter into communication with his friends. He manufactured ink out of soot, moistened with wine. He made pens out of chicken bones, and wrote on the margin of books which were lent to him, or on handkerchiefs. But his warder, Saint-Mars, detected all these contrivances. The servants whom the prisoner had won over were arrested, and one of them was hanged.
In the end, these futile energies were defeated by captivity and disease. Foucquet became addicted to devotional exercises. Like Mademoiselle de la Vallière, he wrote pious reflections.
It is even thought that he composed religious verses, for it is known that he asked for a dictionary of rhymes, which was given to him.
For seven years he had been cut off from living men. Then a voice called him. It was Lauzun, who was imprisoned at Pignerol, and who had made a hole in the wall. Lauzun told his companion news of the outer world. Foucquet listened eagerly, but when the Cadet de Gascogne told him that he held a general’s commission, and that he had married La Grande Mademoiselle, at first with the approval of the King, and then against it, Foucquet considered him mad and ceased to believe anything that he said.
About 1679, Foucquet’s captivity at length became less severe; he was permitted to receive his family. But it was too late; those fourteen cruel years had irreparably undermined his strong constitution; his sight had grown weak; he was losing his teeth; he was suffering pain in his whole body, and his piety was increasing with his weakness. He died in March, 1680, just as he had received permission to go and drink the waters of Bourbon. His body, which had been laid in the crypt of Sainte-Claire de Pignerol, Madame Foucquet had transferred the following year to the church of the Convent of the Visitation in the Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Antoine. The register of this church contains the following entry: “On the 28th March, 1681, Messire Nicolas Foucquet was buried in our church, in the Chapel of Saint-François de Sales. He had risen to the highest honours in the magistracy; had been Councillor in Parliament, Master of Requests, Attorney-General, Superintendent of Finance, and Minister of State.”
Whatever may be said to the contrary, posterity does not judge with equity, for it is partial; it is indifferent, and makes but hasty work of the trial of the dead who appear before it. And posterity is not a Court of Justice; it is a noisy mob, in which it is impossible to make oneself heard, but which, at rare intervals, is dominated by some great voice. Finally, its judgments are not definitive, since another posterity follows which may cancel the sentence of the first, and pronounce new ones, which again may be revoked by a new posterity. Nevertheless, certain cases seem to have been definitely lost in the court of mankind, and I find myself constrained to rank with these the case of Foucquet. He was an embezzler, and was definitely condemned on this point — condemned without appeal. As for extenuating circumstances, it is not difficult to find them. Illustrious examples, even more, perpetual solicitings and the impossibility of observing any regularity in troubled times, impelled him to steal, both for the State and for certain great men. Of his thefts he kept something; he kept too much. He was guilty, doubtless, but his fault seems greatly mitigated when one remembers the circumstances and the spirit of the time.
I am going to say something which is a ki
nd of redemption of Nicolas Foucquet’s memory; I will say it in two charming lines which are attributed to Pellisson, and which appear to have been written by Foucquet’s friend, the fabulist. Pellisson, in an epistle to the King, said of Foucquet:
D’un esprit élevé, négligeant l’avenir,
Il toucha les trésors, mais sans les retenir.
This it is which redeems and exalts this man. He was liberal, he loved to give, and he knew how to give, and let it not be said in the name of any morbid and morose morality that, even if he had taken the State’s money without retaining it, he was only the more guilty, uniting prodigality to unscrupulousness. No, his liberality remains honourable; it showed that the principle which prompted his embezzlements was not a vile one, that, if this man was ruined, the cause of his ruin was not natural baseness, but the blind impulse of a naturally magnificent temperament. Thus Foucquet will live in history as the consoler of the aged Corneille, and the tactful patron of La Fontaine.
No one will deny his faults, the crimes he committed against the State, but for a moment one may forget them, and say that what was truly noble, and even nobly foolish in his temperament, half atones for the evil which has been only too thoroughly proved.
PART II
THE CHTEAU DE VAUX
DURING his trial Foucquet declared that he had begun the building of his house at Vaux as early as 1640. On this point his memory betrayed him. Reference to the inscription on an engraving by Perelle, after Israël Silvestre, assigns the commencement of work upon the house to the year 1653, but there is no doubt that Israel Silvestre planned the chateau on lines which were not absolutely final. Nor was the ne varietur plan, signed in 1666, exactly followed. It is not until 1657 that the registers of the parish of Maincy attest the presence of foreign workmen who had come to undertake certain building operations on the estate of Vaux.
The architect, Louis Levau, employed by Foucquet, was not a beginner. He had already built “a house at the apex of the island of Notre-Dame which is none other than the Hôtel Lam bert, the ingenious novelties of which were greatly admired. Especially noteworthy was the chamber of Madame de Torigny, on the second floor, which Le Sueur had decorated with a grace which recalls the mural paintings of Herculaneum. This chamber was called the Italian room, “Because,” said Guillet de Saint-Georges, “the beauty of the woodwork and the richness of the panelling took the place of tapestry.”
Levau, born in 1612, was forty-three years of age when he signed the ne varietur plan. We know little about the life of this man whose work is so famous. A document of the 23rd March, 1651, describes him as “a man of noble birth, Councillor and Secretary to the King, House and Crown of France.” He then lived in Paris, in the Rue du Roi-de-Sicile, with his wife and his three young children, Jean, Louis and Nicolas.
Besides the Hôtel Lambert and the Chateau de Vaux, we are indebted to him for the design for the Collège des Quatre-Nations, now the Palace of the Institute; the Maison Bautru, called by Sauvai “La Gentille,” and engraved by Marot; the Hôtel de Pons, in the Rue du Colombier (to-day the Rue du Vieux-Colombier), built for President Tambruneau; the Hôtel Deshameaux, which, according to Sauvai, had an Italian room; the Hôtel d’Hesselin in the Ile Saint-Louis; the Hôtel de Rohan, in the Rue de l’Université; the Château de Livry, since known as Le Rainey, built for the Intendant of Finances, Bordier; the Château de Seignelay; a château near Troyes; and the Château de Bercy. We may add that Louis Levau, having become first architect to the King, succeeded Gamard in directing the works of the church of Saint-Sulpice, and that he, in his turn, was succeeded by Daniel Gillard in 1660.
Louis Levau died in Paris. His body was carried to the church of Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois, his parish church, on Saturday, the nth October, 1670, as attested by the register of this church. There, under the above date, may he read: “On the said day was buried Messire Louys Levau, aged 57 or thereabouts, who died this morning at three o’clock. In his life a Councillor of the King in his Council, general Superintendent of His Majesty’s buildings, first Architect of his buildings, Secretary to His Majesty and the House and Crown of France, etc., taken from the Rue des Fossés, from the ancient Hôtel de Longueville.”
To create the estate of Vaux in its prodigious magnificence, it was necessary to destroy three villages: Vaux-le-Vicomte, with its church and its mill, the hamlet of Maison-Rouge and that of Jumeau. The gigantic works which were necessary are hardly imaginable; immense rocks were carried away; deep canals were excavated.
Foucquet hurried on the work with all the impatience of his intemperate mind. As early as 1657 the animation which prevailed in the works was so great that it was spoken of as something immoderate, as though more befitting royalty. Foucquet felt that it was of importance to conceal proceedings which gave the impression of enormous expenditure. He wrote on the 8th of February, 1657:
“A gentleman of the neighbourhood, who is called Villevessin, told the Queen that he was lately at Vaux, and that in the workshop he counted nine hundred men. In order to avoid this as far as may be, you must carry out my design of putting up screens, and keeping the doors shut. I should be glad if you would advance all the work as far as possible before the season when everybody goes into the country, and I want you to avoid, as far as possible, having a large number of workpeople together.”
If we compare the statement made by M. de Villevessin with a note written by Foucquet on the 21st November, 1660, we may conclude that at one time there were eighteen thousand workmen occupied on the buildings and the gardens.
Such works could not be kept secret. Colbert, jealous for his King and perhaps for himself, came to visit them in secret. Watel, Foucquet’s steward — he who later entered the King’s service, the story of whose death is well known — Watel, faithful servant, surprised Colbert making his inspection, and told his master. Foucquet took some precautions, but none the less the matter created a bad impression at Court. One day when the King, with Monsieur, was inspecting the building operations at the Louvre, he complained to his brother that he had no money to complete this great building. Whereupon Monsieur replied jokingly:— “Sire, Your Majesty need only become Superintendent of Finance for a single year, and then you will have plenty of money for building.”
These immense works necessitated great institutions. Foucquet founded at Maincy a hospital called La Charité, where the workmen were received when they were ill.
Tapestry rooms were also established at Maincy. There, according to Le Brun’s designs, were executed Les Chasses de Méléagre and l’ Histoire de Constantin.
Le Brun himself settled at Maincy, with his wife Suzanne, in the autumn of 1658.
This great artist did not merely provide cartoons for tapestry; he decorated the ceilings of the halls of the château with allegorical paintings. Several pieces of sculpture also were executed from his drawings. Thus the four lions which are still seen at the foot of the staircase leading to the great Terrace des Grottes were designed by the painter; or, at least, so Mlle, de Scudéry says. These lions have almost human countenances. We know that the art of the eighteenth century was very free in its treatment of wild animals. The face expresses pride as well as gentleness. Lying in its innocent claws is a squirrel, pursued by a viper. Colbert again!
Now I must recall the great days of Vaux. They were not many, and the most brilliant was the last.
After the marriage of the King and the Infanta at Saint-Jean-de-Luz, the Court took the road to Paris. It halted at Fontainbleau, and Foucquet received it at Vaux with that audacious magnificence which he preferred even to the realities of power. The courtiers walked in the gardens, where the fountains were playing, and a wonderful supper was served. The gazetteer Press has preserved for us a list of the fruits and flowers which adorned the tables, as well as “preserves of every colour, the fritters and pastries and other dishes which were served there.”
A year later the Château de Vaux received the widow of Charles I, Henriette of France, Queen of En
gland. She was accompanied by her daughter, Henrietta of England, and the Duc d’Orléans, her son-in-law. Henrietta, or, to give her her title, Madame, was in all the brilliance of her youth, had a genius both for affairs of gallantry and matters of State. She lived as though in haste, consuming in coquetry and in intrigue a life which was not fated to be a lone one. A woman of this character, so nearly related to the King, was bound to interest the ambitious Foucquet. He received her with all the refinements of magnificence. After dinner he had a Comedy played before her. The piece was by Molière himself, who was already greatly admired for his naturalness and truth to life. The play was then completely new; it had not been seen either by the town or the Court. It was L’Ecole des Maris.
Shortly afterwards the Château of Vaux was to witness a yet more brilliant festivity — the last of all. When Foucquet invited the King, he was possessed by a spirit of unwisdom and of error; all about him, men and things alike, cried out to him in vain: Blind! blind!
The King set out from Fontainbleau on the 17th August, 1661, and came to Vaux in a coach, in which he was accompanied by Monsieur, the Comtesse d’Armagnac, the Duchesse de Valentinois and the Comtesse de Guiche. The Queen-Mother came in her own coach, and Madame in her litter. The young Queen, detained at Fontainebleau by her pregnancy, was not present at that cruel festivity. More than six thousand persons were invited. The King and the Court began by visiting the park. All were loud in their admiration of the great fountains. “There was,” says La Fontaine, “great discussion as to which was the best, the Cascade, the Wheat-Sheaf Jet, the Fountain of the Crown or the Animals.” The chateau also was inspected and Le Brun’s pictures greatly admired.
Complete Works of Anatole France Page 354