And Louis XIV. himself replies in a manner to calm Charles IV.’s uneasiness, but still without revealing the place of Matthioly’s confinement:—
“Fontainebleau, August 21, 1681.
“I have already informed you that you may assure the Duke of Mantua that Mathioly will not leave the place where he is without the consent of that prince; and if there are any other measures to be taken for his satisfaction, you will inform me of them. On this, etc.”[595]
Can one have any doubt of the true sentiments of the Duke of Mantua after reading the following despatch?—
“The Duke of Mantua has learnt with much joy and with sentiments of lively gratitude, what it has pleased your Majesty to order me to inform him concerning Matthioli. He had intended to thank me this evening personally in an audience which he wished to accord me; but I have found it impossible to attend, owing to a very painful rheumatism in the neck, which has forced me to keep my bed during the last three days.”[596]
This joy of Charles IV. on learning that he no longer had to dread the sudden appearance of his accomplice is sadly significant. He could again treat with Louis XIV. without fearing lest his too well-informed ex-minister should proceed to impress upon the attention of the other princes the conditions to which the Duke of Mantua had agreed, by consenting to put himself under the complete control of the most dangerous of Italy’s enemies. Everything thus combined to perpetuate the confinement of the unfortunate Minister, and the interest of Charles IV. as much as the pride of Louis XIV. required that he who had deceived the one and humiliated the other should be removed from the world for ever.
This was done; and we have seen with what a mystery and with what an abundance of precautions and minute cares Villebois was charged to guard him at Pignerol, after Saint-Mars’ departure for Exiles. Villebois never once left his prisoner. On March 22, 1682,[597] actuated by a scruple similar to those which had often possessed Saint-Mars, Villebois asked the Minister, to whom he was to confide the care of his prisoners if he should fall ill? Louvois replied, “To the one in whom you have most confidence.” “The King approves,” wrote the Minister, April 13, 1682, “of your lending the prisoners with whose care you are charged the books of devotion which they ask of you, taking all due precautions that these may not serve to give them intelligence of any kind.”[598] “With reference to the priest whom the prisoners ask for,” we read in a despatch of December 11, 1683, “I have to tell you that they should only be allowed to confess once a year.”[599] “I have received your letter of the 14th of last month,” writes Louvois, May 1, 1684, “from which I perceive the rage of the Sieur Matthioly’s servant (valet)[600] towards you, and the manner in which you have punished him, which must certainly be approved of, and you ought always to act in the same manner on a like occasion.” On November 26, 1689, Louvois learns “that some one had come by night to a door of the bastion of Pignerol, where the apartments of the prisoners are situated, with the intention of getting in,” and he orders Villebois “to omit nothing to endeavour to discover those who have done so.”[601] On July 28, 1692, when the Sieur de Laprade is about to assume the governorship, left vacant by Villebois’ death, Barbézieux writes to him “that he cannot take too many precautions for the security of the prisoners with whose care he is charged.” The same instructions are addressed to him on October 31 following.[602] Despite these incessant precautions, and the vigilance of which he was the object, Matthioly still endeavoured to give tidings of himself, but it was only on the linings of his pockets that he managed to write a few words. He was discovered, and the Minister writes to Laprade, December 27, 1693, “You have merely to burn what remains of the little pieces of the pockets on which Matthioly and his man have written, and which you have found in the lining of their coats, where they had hidden them.”[603]
This care in destroying everything that might reveal Matthioly’s presence at Pignerol had at that time become especially necessary. It was no longer, as in 1679, merely Louis XIV.’s pride which exacted that the greatest mystery should surround his victim’s existence. Since the date of the abduction, the face of things in Italy had changed. The King of France could no longer hold forth there as a master; his armies had ceased to be constantly victorious, and he was expiating his impolitic and inopportune interference in the affairs of the peninsula. That petty Duke of Savoy, whom we saw twelve years previously submitting himself, with imprecations, to the yoke of his imperious neighbour, had, in 1693, attained a position which enabled him to exercise over the progress of events an influence much greater than that due to the extent of his territories. This Prince had succeeded in counterbalancing the weakness of his position by his duplicity in changing his alliances, by his dissembling language, and by his happy promptitude in making use of favourable circumstances. In his policy he had always preferred sharp practices to honest acts, and he deceived in turn and with equal perfidy both Louis XIV. and the enemies of the King of France. The latter was anxious for peace, with the view of directing all his efforts and all his attention towards the question of the Spanish succession, just about to open; and peace depended almost entirely upon Victor-Amadeus, who, at first so humble, and for a long time so despised, was now taking his revenge. “We are proud, and wish to make use of the necessity in which we know very well that the King is placed, in order to make a general peace for ourselves,” said the Marquis de Saint-Thomas,[604] Minister of Savoy, to Count de Tessé. So it was no longer the restitution of the conquests made in Piedmont, and the surrender of Caslae, that Victor-Amadeus demanded, but the possession of Pignerol, that valuable acquisition of Richelieu, a French town for the last sixty years, and whose surrender, which Louis XIV. finished by resigning himself, was a just expiation for his ambitious projects of aggrandisement. Possessing already one of the keys of Italy, he had wished to acquire the other, so as to keep under his control the Duke of Savoy, who would thus have been enclosed between two formidable towns, and he was now compelled to cede him Pignerol, and to withdraw his troops from Casale.
Matthioly, who had played the principal part in the early negotiations relating to the latter place, suffered in the obscurity of his prison the consequence of this sudden change in Italian affairs; since he was one of the three State-prisoners whom the King of France caused to be transferred from Pignerol to the Isles Sainte-Marguerite, March 19, 1694. Not that his name was then mentioned. After the despatch of December 27, 1693, concerning what he had written on his coat-pockets, he was no longer named. Indeed, it was more than ever necessary to hide from every one this victim of an audacious and inexcusable offence against international law. The discontent of Europe against Louis XIV. being extremely strong, and the interests of his policy requiring him to calm it at any price, it was then especially essential to cover with impenetrable mystery an existence which recalled at once the menacing ambition, the audacity, and also the defeat of a great king. So there have, perhaps, never been so many minute precautions imposed for a journey of this nature. At the same time that Laprade was receiving the most circumstantial and precise instructions with reference to the transfer, the Marquis d’Herleville, Governor of Pignerol, and the Count de Tessé, commanding the French troops in that place, had orders “to furnish escorts and advance all the money required for the expenses of the journey.” Tessé was instructed not to inquire the names of the prisoners, and to absolutely overcome every temptation to a dangerous curiosity.[605] The following unpublished despatch is a proof of this:—
“Turin, March 27, 1694.