CHAPTER LXXXV.
THE CHATEAU DE VAUX-LE-VICOMTE.
The chateau of Vaux-le-Vicomte, situated about a league from Melun, hadbeen built by Fouquet in 1655, at a time when there was a scarcity ofmoney in France; Mazarin had taken all that there was, and Fouquetexpended the remainder. However, as certain men have fertile faults anduseful vices, Fouquet, in scattering broadcast millions of money in theconstruction of this palace, had found a means of gathering, as theresult of his generous profusion, three illustrious men together: Levan,the architect of the building; Lenotre, the designer of the gardens; andLebrun, the decorator of the apartments. If the Chateau de Vauxpossessed a single fault with which it could be reproached, it was itsgrand, pretentious character. It is even at the present day proverbialto calculate the number of acres of roofing, the reparation of whichwould, in our age, be the ruin of fortunes cramped and narrowed as theepoch itself. Vaux-le-Vicomte, when its magnificent gates, supported bycaryatides, have been passed through, has the principal front of themain building opening upon a vast, so-called court of honor, inclosed bydeep ditches, bordered by a magnificent stone balustrade. Nothing couldbe more noble in appearance than the forecourt of the middle, raisedupon the flight of steps, like a king upon his throne, having around itfour pavilions forming the angles, the immense Ionic columns of whichrose majestically to the whole height of the building. The friezesornamented with arabesques, and the pediments which crowned thepilasters, conferred richness and grace upon every part of the building,while the domes which surmounted the whole added proportion and majesty.This mansion, built by a subject, bore a far greater resemblance tothose royal residences which Wolsey fancied he was called upon toconstruct, in order to present them to his master from the fear ofrendering him jealous.
But if magnificence and splendor were displayed in any one particularpart of this palace more than in another--if anything could be preferredto the wonderful arrangement of the interior, to the sumptuousness ofthe gilding, and to the profusion of the paintings and statues, it wouldbe the park and gardens of Vaux. The _jets d'eau_, which were regardedas wonderful in 1653, are still so, even at the present time; thecascades awakened the admiration of kings and princes; and as for thefamous grotto, the theme of so many poetical effusions, the residence ofthat illustrious nymph of Vaux, whom Pellisson made converse with LaFontaine, we must be spared the description of all its beauties. We willdo as Despreaux did--we will enter the park, the trees of which are ofeight years' growth only, and whose summits even yet, as they proudlytower aloft, blushingly unfold their leaves to the earliest rays of therising sun. Lenotre had accelerated the pleasure of the Mecaenas of hisperiod; all the nursery-grounds had furnished trees whose growth hadbeen accelerated by careful culture and rich manure. Every tree in theneighborhood which presented a fair appearance of beauty or stature, hadbeen taken up by its roots and transplanted to the park. Fouquet couldwell afford to purchase trees to ornament his park, since he had boughtup three villages and their appurtenances (to use a legal word) toincrease its extent. M. de Scudery said of this palace, that for thepurpose of keeping the grounds and gardens well watered, M. Fouquet haddivided a river into a thousand fountains, and gathered the waters of athousand fountains into torrents. This same Monsieur de Scudery said agreat many other things in his "Clelie" about this palace of Valterre,the charms of which he describes most minutely. We should be far wiserto send our curious readers to Vaux to judge for themselves, than torefer them to the "Clelie" and yet there are as many leagues from Paristo Vaux as there are volumes of the "Clelie."
This magnificent palace had been got ready for the reception of thegreatest reigning sovereign of the time. M. Fouquet's friends hadtransported thither, some their actors and their dresses, others theirtroops of sculptors and artists; not forgetting others with theirready-mended pens--floods of impromptus were contemplated. The cascades,somewhat rebellious nymphs though they were, poured forth their watersbrighter and clearer than crystal; they scattered over the bronzetritons and nereids their waves of foam, which glistened like fire inthe rays of the sun. An army of servants were hurrying to and fro insquadrons in the courtyard and corridors; while Fouquet, who had onlythat morning arrived, walked all through the palace with a calm,observant glance, in order to give his last orders, after his intendantshad inspected everything.
It was, as we have said, the 15th of August. The sun poured down itsburning rays upon the heathen deities of marble and bronze; it raisedthe temperature of the water in the conch shells, and ripened, on thewalls, those magnificent peaches, of which the king, fifty years later,spoke so regretfully, when, at Marly, on an occasion of a scarcity ofthe finer sorts of peaches being complained of, in the beautiful gardensthere--gardens which had cost France double the amount that had beenexpended on Vaux--the _great king_ observed to some one, "You are fartoo young to have eaten any of M. Fouquet's peaches."
Oh! fame! Oh! the blazonry of renown! Oh! the glory of this earth! Thatvery man whose judgment was so sound and accurate where merit wasconcerned--he who had swept into his coffers the inheritance of NicholasFouquet, who had robbed him of Lenotre and Lebrun, and had sent him torot for the remainder of his life in one of the state prisons--merelyremembered the peaches of that vanquished, crushed, forgotten enemy! Itwas to little purpose that Fouquet had squandered thirty millions offrancs in the fountains of his gardens, in the crucibles of hissculptors, in the writing-desks of his literary friends, in theportfolios of his painters; vainly had he fancied that thereby he mightbe remembered. A peach--a blushing, rich-flavored fruit, nestling in thetrellis-work on the garden wall, hidden beneath its long greenleaves--this small vegetable production, that a dormouse would nibble upwithout a thought, was sufficient to recall to the memory of this greatmonarch the mournful shade of the last surintendant of France.
With a perfect reliance that Aramis had made arrangements fairly todistribute the vast number of guests throughout the palace, and that hehad not omitted to attend to any of the internal regulations for theircomfort, Fouquet devoted his entire attention to the _ensemble_ alone;in one direction Gourville showed him the preparations which had beenmade for the fireworks; in another, Moliere led him over the theater; atlast, after he had visited the chapel, the salons, and the galleries,and was again going downstairs, exhausted with fatigue, Fouquet sawAramis on the staircase. The prelate beckoned to him. The surintendantjoined his friend, and, with him, paused before a large picture scarcelyfinished. Applying himself heart and soul to his work, the painter,Lebrun, covered with perspiration, stained with paint, pale from fatigueand inspiration of genius, was putting the last finishing touches withhis rapid brush. It was the portrait of the king, whom they wereexpecting, dressed in the court-suit which Percerin had condescended toshow beforehand to the bishop of Vannes. Fouquet placed himself beforethis portrait, which seemed to live, as one might say, in the coolfreshness of its flesh, and in its warmth of color. He gazed upon itlong and fixedly, estimated the prodigious labor that had been bestowedupon it, and, not being able to find any recompense sufficiently greatfor this Herculean effort, he passed his arm round the painter's neck,and embraced him. The surintendant, by this action, had utterly ruined asuit of clothes worth a thousand pistoles, but he had satisfied, morethan satisfied, Lebrun. It was a happy moment for the artist; it was anunhappy one for M. Percerin, who was walking behind Fouquet, and wasengaged in admiring, in Lebrun's painting, the suit that he had had madefor his majesty, a perfect _objet d'art_, as he called it, which was notto be matched except in the wardrobe of the surintendant. His distressand his exclamations were interrupted by a signal which had been givenfrom the summit of the mansion. In the direction of Melun, in the stillempty open plain, the sentinels of Vaux had perceived the advancingprocession of the king and the queens. His majesty was entering intoMelun with his long train of carriages and cavaliers.
"In an hour--" said Aramis to Fouquet.
"In an hour!" replied the latter, sighing.
"And the people who as
k one another what is the good of these royalfetes!" continued the bishop of Vannes, laughing, with his false smile.
"Alas! I, too, who am not the people, ask the same thing."
"I will answer you in four-and-twenty-hours, monseigneur. Assume acheerful countenance, for it should be a day of true rejoicing."
"Well, believe me or not, as you like, D'Herblay," said thesurintendant, with a swelling heart, pointing at the cortege of Louis,visible in the horizon, "he certainly loves me but very little, nor do Icare much for him; but, I cannot tell you how it is, that since he isapproaching toward my house--"
"Well, what?"
"Well, then, since I know he is on his way here, as my guest, he is moresacred than ever for me; he is my acknowledged sovereign, and as such isvery dear to me."
"Dear? yes," said Aramis, playing upon the word, as the Abbe Tenay did,at a later period, with Louis XV.
"Do not laugh, D'Herblay; I feel that if he were really to wish it, Icould love that young man."
"You should not say that to me," returned Aramis, "but rather to M.Colbert."
"To M. Colbert?" exclaimed Fouquet. "Why so?"
"Because he would allow you a pension out of the king's privy purse, assoon as he becomes surintendant," said Aramis, preparing to leave assoon as he had dealt this last blow.
"Where are you going?" returned Fouquet, with a gloomy look.
"To my own apartment, in order to change my costume, monseigneur."
"Whereabouts are you lodging, D'Herblay?"
"In the blue room on the second story."
"The room immediately over the king's room?"
"Precisely."
"You will be subject to very great restraint there. What an idea tocondemn yourself to a room where you cannot stir or move about!"
"During the night, monseigneur, I sleep or read in my bed."
"And your servants?"
"I have only one person with me. I find my reader quite sufficient.Adieu, monseigneur: do not overfatigue yourself; keep yourself fresh forthe arrival of the king."
"We shall see you by-and-by, I suppose, and shall see your friend DeValon also?"
"He is lodging next to me, and is at this moment dressing."
And Fouquet, bowing, with a smile, passed on like a commander-in-chiefwho pays the different outposts a visit after the enemy has beensignaled in sight.
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