"To die!" repeated Pelisson; "what, the men I saw six days ago, full of health, gayety, and the spirit of the future! What then is man, good G.o.d! that disease should thus bring him down all at once!"
"It is not a disease," said Fouquet.
"Then there is a remedy," said Sorel.
"No remedy. Messieurs de Lyodot and D"Eymeris are on the eve of their last day."
"Of what are these gentlemen dying, then?" asked an officer.
"Ask of him who kills them," replied Fouquet.
"Who kills them? Are they being killed, then?" cried the terrified chorus.
"They do better still; the are hanging them," murmured Fouquet, in a sinister voice, which sounded like a funeral knell in that rich gallery, splendid with pictures, flowers, velvet, and gold. Involuntarily every one stopped; the abbe quitted his window; the first fuses of the fireworks began to mount above the trees. A prolonged cry from the gardens attracted the superintendent to enjoy the spectacle. He drew near to a window, and his friends placed themselves behind him, attentive to his least wish.
"Messieurs," said he, "M. Colbert has caused to be arrested, tried and will execute my two friends; what does it become me to do?"
"Mordieu!" exclaimed the abbe, the first one to speak, "run M. Colbert through the body."
"Monseigneur," said Pelisson, "you must speak to his majesty."
"The king, my dear Pelisson, himself signed the order for the execution."
"Well!" said the Comte de Charost, "the execution must not take place, then; that is all."
"Impossible," said Gourville, "unless we could corrupt the jailers."
"Or the governor," said Fouquet.
"This night the prisoners might be allowed to escape."
"Which of you will take charge of the transaction?"
"I," said the abbe, "will carry the money."
"And I," said Pelisson, "will be the bearer of the words."
"Words and money," said Fouquet, "five hundred thousand livres to the governor of the conciergerie that is sufficient; nevertheless, it shall be a million, if necessary."
"A million!" cried the abbe; "why, for less than half, I would have half Paris sacked."
"There must be no disorder," said Pelisson. "The governor being gained, the two prisoners escape; once clear of the fangs of the law, they will call together the enemies of Colbert, and prove to the king that his young justice, like all other monstrosities, is not infallible."
"Go to Paris, then, Pelisson," said Fouquet, "and bring hither the two victims; to-morrow we shall see."
Gourville gave Pelisson the five hundred thousand livres. "Take care the wind does not carry you away," said the abbe; "what a responsibility.
Peste! Let me help you a little."
"Silence!" said Fouquet, "somebody is coming. Ah! the fireworks are producing a magical effect." At this moment a shower of sparks fell rustling among the branches of the neighboring trees. Pelisson and Gourville went out together by the door of the gallery; Fouquet descended to the garden with the five last plotters.
Chapter LVIII. Epicureans.
As Fouquet was giving, or appearing to give, all his attention to the brilliant illuminations, the languishing music of the violins and hautboys, the sparkling sheaves of the artificial fires, which, inflaming the heavens with glowing reflections, marked behind the trees the dark profile of the donjon of Vincennes; as, we say, the superintendent was smiling on the ladies and the poets, the fete was every whit as gay as usual; and Vatel, whose restless, even jealous look, earnestly consulted the aspect of Fouquet, did not appear dissatisfied with the welcome given to the ordering of the evening"s entertainment. The fireworks over, the company dispersed about the gardens and beneath the marble porticoes with the delightful liberty which reveals in the master of the house so much forgetfulness of greatness, so much courteous hospitality, so much magnificent carelessness. The poets wandered about, arm in arm, through the groves; some reclined upon beds of moss, to the great damage of velvet clothes and curled heads, into which little dried leaves and blades of gra.s.s insinuated themselves. The ladies, in small numbers, listened to the songs of the singers and the verses of the poets; others listened to the prose, spoken with much art, by men who were neither actors nor poets, but to whom youth and solitude gave an unaccustomed eloquence, which appeared to them better than everything else in the world. "Why," said La Fontaine, "does not our master Epicurus descend into the garden?
Epicurus never abandoned his pupils; the master is wrong."
"Monsieur," said Conrart, "you yourself are in the wrong persisting in decorating yourself with the name of an Epicurean; indeed, nothing here reminds me of the doctrine of the philosopher of Gargetta."
"Bah!" said La Fontaine, "is it not written that Epicurus purchased a large garden and lived in it tranquilly with his friends?"
"That is true."
"Well, has not M. Fouquet purchased a large garden at Saint-Mande, and do we not live here very tranquilly with him and his friends?"
"Yes, without doubt; unfortunately it is neither the garden nor the friends which const.i.tute the resemblance. Now, what likeness is there between the doctrine of Epicurus and that of M. Fouquet?"
"This--pleasure gives happiness."
"Next?"
"Well, I do not think we ought to consider ourselves unfortunate, for my part, at least. A good repast--vin de Joigny, which they have the delicacy to go and fetch for me from my favorite cabaret--not one impertinence heard during a supper an hour long, in spite of the presence of ten millionaires and twenty poets."
"I stop you there. You mentioned vin de Joigny, and a good repast; do you persist in that?"
"I persist,--anteco, as they say at Port Royal."
"Then please to recollect that the great Epicurus lived, and made his pupils live, upon bread, vegetables, and water."
"That is not certain," said La Fontaine; "and you appear to me to be confounding Epicurus with Pythagoras, my dear Conrart."
"Remember, likewise, that the ancient philosopher was rather a bad friend of the G.o.ds and the magistrates."
"Oh! that is what I will not admit," replied La Fontaine. "Epicurus was like M. Fouquet."
"Do not compare him to monsieur le surintendant," said Conrart, in an agitated voice, "or you would accredit the reports which are circulating concerning him and us."
"What reports?"
"That we are bad Frenchmen, lukewarm with regard to the king, deaf to the law."
"I return, then, to my text," said La Fontaine. "Listen, Conrart, this is the morality of Epicurus, whom, besides, I consider, if I must tell you so, as a myth. Antiquity is mostly mythical. Jupiter, if we give a little attention to it, is life. Alcides is strength. The words are there to bear me out; Zeus, that is, zen, to live. Alcides, that is, alce, vigor. Well, Epicurus, that is mild watchfulness, that is protection; now who watches better over the state, or who protects individuals better than M. Fouquet does?"
"You talk etymology and not morality; I say that we modern Epicureans are indifferent citizens."
"Oh!" cried La Fontaine, "if we become bad citizens, it is not through following the maxims of our master. Listen to one of his princ.i.p.al aphorisms."