Louis XIV
Page 11
This quick and effective response quelled any further taste for rebellion. The président de Raguse came straight to court, where he was reminded at some length that his first duty was to the king, and a month later, allowed to go home. There was no more trouble from Aix after that.
It was just as important, in view of their still recent behavior, to impress the need for obedience on the several members of the royal family. The most dangerous of them, potentially, was Monsieur, but he had been well trained by the queen mother and never dreamed of opposing his brother. Mademoiselle, who had ordered the guns of the Bastille fired on the king’s army back in 1652, was thoroughly tamed, and the prince de Condé, just back from seven years in the service of Spain, only longed for peace and comfort. Still, there could be no doubt that they, too, would seize any favorable opportunity. Thus, when in May 1661, the comte de Soissons* proceeded to misbehave, the king struck immediately.
Dueling had long been forbidden in France, but it was only under Richelieu that the prohibition was actually enforced; under the regency, duels became once again an everyday occurrence, but then Louis XIV announced that he intended the law to be obeyed. So when the comte de Soissons called out the duc de Navailles as a result of a dispute between their respective wives, the king, without a moment’s hesitation, exiled Soissons to a remote country house. This expulsion was particularly startling, not only because no one had thought the ban applied to royalty but also because the comtesse de Soissons was none other than Olympe Mancini, Louis’s former mistress.
In fact, the case brought together several elements sure to arouse the king’s displeasure. First, of course, was the comte de Soissons’s assumption that he could disregard a royal order; there was, Louis XIV clearly felt, only a very short step from this behavior to political opposition; then, the subject of the dispute had been the claim by the comtesse de Soissons, as Superintendent* of the Queen’s Household, of prerogatives which properly belonged to the duchesse de Navailles as dame d’honneur, and the king was not about to countenance that sort of abuse by a woman trading on their former relationship; finally the dispute had disrupted the good order of the Court, and that, it soon became plain, was something the king would not tolerate.
The comte de Soissons’s exile was, in itself, only a minor incident, if a revealing one. Louis XIV’s steady work with his ministers might last only a few months, but then, on September 5, 1661, the king served final notice on all possible doubters that he really meant to rule, and to rule absolutely. On that day, the apparently powerful Fouquet was not only dismissed from all his offices but arrested and interned in a fortress while his papers were seized; within days, it was announced that he would be tried on a capital charge.
Because the Sun King has long been the archetype of the absolute monarch, we tend to think of him as all-powerful from the start. That this omnipotence was not the case during the Fronde and its aftermath is plain enough. It is more startling to see that even after he had seized control of the government, Louis XIV found it necessary to plan and plot in the deepest secrecy before he could dismiss a dishonest and unfaithful minister.
Fouquet’s fall was decided by the king on May 3, 1661, according to Colbert, but as has been noted by Louis himself, his immediate dismissal was impossible because it would have provoked a grave financial crisis. Then, too, there was the distinct possibility that the surintendant, once dismissed, would try to start a new civil war; he was known, after all, to be fortifying Belle Isle; many key members of the Parlement de Paris and the royal administration were in his debt and might well rise to defend him while defeating the king’s attempt at making himself an absolute ruler. Thus, in the worst possible case, the state would go bankrupt just as a new Fronde began.
Obviously some careful planning was required - something a less prudent monarch might not have realized, so together, and in the deepest secrecy, Louis XIV and Colbert set about undermining Fouquet’s position. Their first step was also the most important. Among the surintendant’s many offices, that of procureur général (attorney general) to the Parlement gave him immunity from arrest; he must therefore be somehow tricked into resigning. That was achieved, simply enough, by heavy hints that, as soon as the elderly Séguier died,* the king intended to appoint Fouquet Chancellor of France; since that great official was at the head of the judiciary, he obviously could not at the same time retain a subordinate office. Amazingly, Fouquet swallowed it all - as clear a case of hubris as can be found anywhere. Now he could be arrested when the time came, and thus prevented from starting a new civil war.
Next, the king and Colbert had to provide for financial stability. This goal was accomplished not only by accumulating funds in the Treasury, but also by enlisting - still in the deepest secrecy - some major outside help. Thus Mazarin’s chief heir, the new duc de Mazarin, who was a very rich man indeed, was approached, and being fully conscious that he owed his fortune to the king’s refusal of it, he promptly agreed to lend the huge sum of 2 million livres whenever the king should need it. This loan was most important: Since under Fouquet the Treasury lived from day to day on the short-term loans made by financiers friendly with the surintendant, that source of ready money was expected to dry up as soon as the news of the arrest became public.
All through this time, Louis XIV went on playing the grateful ruler every time he saw Fouquet; along with the hints about the chancellor’s office, the surintendant was given to understand that, as had sometimes been the case in the sixteenth century, he would also be the effective head of the government.
He might, perhaps, have begun to wonder about the king’s real feelings toward him when in early August, the power to sign the états de distribution* was taken away from him. But any misgiving he may have felt was allayed by his triumph on the nineteenth of that month.
Whatever his faults, Fouquet was not only a man of enormous charm but also a remarkably enlightened connoisseur, so when he decided to build himself a château on his estate of Vaux, he spent money as if his fortune were endless (and, in the sense that he kept helping himself to Treasury funds, it was), and he also hired three of the greatest geniuses in the history of French art. The house itself was designed by Le Vau and turned out to be a marvel of grace, restraint, and majestic charm in a brand-new style; the rooms were planned and often frescoed by Lebrun, a painter and decorator of immense talent; the gardens were laid out by Le Nôtre, with straight allées, parterres that looked as if they were pieces of embroidery, and water - in fountains, basins, and canals - everywhere.
The results were as stunning to the contemporaries as they have remained to this day*: A whole new French style was born made of grandeur and classical measure, and it was soon imitated by the rest of Europe. Naturally, so brilliant, so sumptuous an estate deserved a proper inauguration, so the king, the queens, and the entire Court were invited to a day-and night-long party on August 19.
It was typical of Fouquet that along with the Court proper, he made sure that wits like Mme de Sévigné (people did not yet realize she was also a great writer) and poets like La Fontaine were present. There was a play by Molière and music by Lulli, fireworks and endless meals. And although no one quite realized it, on that day, French art, music, and literature moved to the forefront of European culture.
For the host and most of the guests, the great fete of Vaux proved conclusively that the surintendant was the most powerful man in France. The king’s feelings may easily be imagined. Contrary to legend, however, it was not anger at the magnificence of the display which made him decide on Fouquet’s fall: That event was already well under way.
Indeed, the whittling-down process continued. Within a week of the fete, on August 25, Louis XIV announced that he intended to put an end to the use, and abuse, of the ordonnances de comptant. These were simple notes in which the king, or the surintendant, simply ordered the payment, immediately and in cash, of a specified sum to a specified person. That simple process circumvented all the safeguards set up to prevent th
e looting of the Treasury; when it was used by the king himself, there was obviously nothing to be said: The Treasury was simply the repository of his money. When it was used by the surintendant, it meant that vast sums could be spent without explanation.
The king’s announcement should have worried Fouquet: Within one month, he had become unable to order the payment of any sum at all by the Treasury, but he was so sure of his power and of his favor that he appears not to have worried. When, on the twenty-ninth, the Court left Fontainebleau for Nantes, the capital of Brittany, where the king was to address the Parlement de Bretagne, Fouquet went along.
Indeed, Louis XIV kept appearances up until the last moment; on the morning of September 5, he announced that he intended to hunt after holding a Council and that his guards were to be ready to serve as his escort - thus giving himself a reason for gathering enough men to ensure a fast and quiet move against Fouquet. As for what happened next, the king described it himself in a letter he sent to Anne of Austria.
“Madame my Mother,” he wrote, “I had already written you this morning to tell you that my order to arrest the Surintendant had been carried out; I am now happy to give you the details of the business: you know I had intended it for a long time … You cannot imagine the difficulty I had in just finding a means of speaking privately with Artagnan [the commanding officer of the Musketeers]; for I am bothered all day by an infinity of people who are all very wide awake and who, given the smallest clue, might have guessed much: still, two days ago, I ordered him to be in readiness and to use du Claveau and Maupertuis instead of the lieutenant and brigadiers of my Musketeers, most of whom are ill; I felt the greatest impatience in the world for it all to be over, since nothing else was keeping me here. Finally, this morning, the Surintendant having come to work with me as usual, I talked first about one thing, then about another, and pretended I was looking for some papers until, through my study window, I saw Artagnan in the castle’s courtyard; I then let the Surintendant go who, after having spoken with La Feuillade for a short time at the bottom of the stairs, disappeared just as Artagnan was greeting the Sieur Le Tellier; so that the poor Artagnan thought he had missed [Fouquet], and sent me word by Maupertuis that he suspected someone must have told him to flee; but he caught up with him in front of the big church and arrested him … at about noon. He asked for the papers he was carrying, in which I was told I would find the truth about Belle Isle; but I have so much other business I have not been able to look at them yet. In the meantime I ordered the Sieur Boucherat to seize all the Surintendant’s papers, and the Sieur Pellot to do the same at Pellisson’s [Fouquet’s assistant], whom I had arrested also. I had said that I wanted to go hunting this morning and under that pretext had my carriages ready, and my Musketeers mounted; I also ordered the guard companies I have here to be ready for exercises in the meadow so that they would be ready to march against Belle Isle. As soon, therefore, as the business was done, the Surintendant was put into one of my carriages, escorted by my Musketeers; he is being taken to the fort at Angers and awaits me there, while his wife has been ordered to Limoges. Fourille is just off with my guards company to the bay of Belle Isle, whence he will send Chavigni to take the fort over with a hundred French and sixty Swiss Guards; and if perchance the Surintendant’s men there wanted to resist, I ordered that the assault be given. I first wanted to wait here for the news of all this, but the orders are so thorough that there is no likelihood of the thing failing, and so I will return [to Paris] without further delay, and this is the last letter I will write you on this trip. I then talked about this event with the gentlemen who are here with me; I told them frankly that I had taken my decision four months ago, that you were the only one who knew about it, and that I had told the Sieur le Tellier only two days ago so that the orders could be sent off. I also told them I no longer wanted to have a Surintendant, and that I would take care of the finances myself with some trustworthy people who will work under me, since I know that is the only way for me to be prosperous while unburdening my people. You will not be surprised to hear that there are many unhappy faces, but I am glad they see I am not the dupe they had thought me.”86
Fouquet’s arrest struck the Court like a thunderclap in a serene sky: Not only were a great many people of every rank part of the former surintendant’s party, they had also written a great many compromising letters and these missives, along with all Fouquet’s other papers, had been seized by the king’s orders. As a result, all concerned felt the deepest apprehension: Even if they were not arrested, surely they must incur the king’s dislike, and in an age when favor could do anything, that was a terrible prospect. In fact, with perhaps a half-dozen exceptions, they had nothing to fear. Enormously vindictive toward those who consciously disobeyed or opposed him, Louis XIV was always ready to forgive those who merely erred. Even Pellisson, Fouquet’s assistant, ended his life as royal historiographer.
Still, partly because an example had to be made, partly because the surintendant had deliberately ignored the king’s demand that he change his earlier behavior, there could be no mercy for Fouquet. Not only was he closely imprisoned, he was also to be tried by a special tribunal; at the same time, his associates’ books were seized so that they, too, could be made to disgorge their ill-gotten gains. Thus Fouquet, once the most visible sign that it paid to be corrupt, had now become the symbol of the king’s unbreakable will to reform the state. It must, however, be said that his was no show trial: The king may have made it plain that he expected the death penalty - in the end Fouquet was imprisoned for life - but the trial was conducted in a thoroughly open and aboveboard manner, with some of the most respected men in France acting as prosecutors and judges.
But that legal procedure was still in the future. Aside from the arrest itself, what made the most difference, in September 1661, was Louis XIV’s decision that henceforth there would be no more surintendant: The abolition of the office completed that of the prime minister. Of course, the finances still required some sort of day-to-day management: Even if the king meant to supervise the department, he could hardly take on the thousand and one tasks that must be seen to. So he created a Council of Finances headed by Villeroy, his former tutor, which Colbert attended as an intendant. It soon became clear that Colbert was the most important man there, in a fact the king confirmed when, in 1665, he gave him the title of Contrôleur Général.
Still, Louis XIV meant just what he said when he announced that henceforth, he would be his own surintendant. On that same September 5, for instance, he wrote not only the duc de Mazarin, but also a former official, Hervart: “The late M. le cardinal having assured me, in the last days of his life, that I could always rely on you for an assistance of two or three million livres whenever the good of my service forced me to bring about some change in the administration of my finances, now that I have had, for divers reasons, to order the arrest of the Surintendant, I am writing you this to tell you that you will please me by providing, either alone or with your friends, the largest sum you can so that I may use it in case of need. Upon which I await your answer.”87
It was not unprecedented for a king to borrow money, far from it, but the whole subject was thought to be somehow contemptible, and at any rate, beneath the royal notice. Money, of course, was necessary, but only merchants thought about it and the great nobles all had people to manage their estates; it was a rare duke who ever looked at the accounts. There was thus something very shocking about a king of France announcing that, henceforth, he would be his own finance minister. That Louis XIV, so near the beginning of his personal reign, should have braved that particular kind of prejudice says a great deal about his notion of kingship.
Here, once again, a few clichés must be explored. We tend to think of the Sun King as a wild spendthrift, who built sumptuous palaces and virtually bankrupted France. Nothing, in fact, could be further from the truth. All through the Fronde, the monarchy was, as we have seen, nearly penniless; even in the late fifties, Mazarin’s government ha
d lived from hand to mouth. Louis XIV was thus very well aware of what it meant to have no money; he also knew that neither a spirited foreign policy nor the kind of display essential to maintaining the monarchy’s prestige was possible without adequate financing. So from September 1661 on, he made very sure that his income would always be sufficient, and since there was a long tradition of peculation on the part of a variety of officials and financiers, only royal supervision could improve the situation.
Today, a head of state who vows to watch every penny can count on instant popularity, but when Louis XIV assumed control of his finances, some of the courtiers began to refer to him as a bourgeois monarch, an insult if ever there was one. The king, typically, paid no attention. Already in 1661, he knew how little those kinds of whispers meant, and he had the best of reasons to go right on: At long last, he could count on governing as he thought best without depending on the goodwill of a small group of greedy and often dishonest financiers.
Still, even in the seventeenth century, when national budgets took in a far smaller proportion of the gross national product than they do today, it required a good deal of technical know-how to figure out just what was what. In this regard, of course, Louis XIV was helped by Colbert, who had precisely the right sort of expertise and was astonishingly diligent besides. Indeed, in the new Council, the key business was discussed with three men only - Colbert, Le Tellier, and Lionne; the chancellor, who was in charge of the judiciary, was often present but spoke only about his own direct concerns. Lionne, who was increasingly replacing Brienne, was in charge of foreign affairs; Le Tellier, helped by Louvois, his son, looked after all military business; Colbert, who seems to have had an inexhaustible capacity for work, monopolized the finances, police, navy, public works, commerce, the colonies, the arts, and the King’s Household. With all that, however, the king made a point of knowing just what was being done, understanding it all, and reserving all major and many minor decisions to himself.