CHAPTER 57
The Gallery of Saint-Mande
Fifty persons were waiting for the superintendent. He did
not even take the time to place himself in the hands of his
valet de chambre for a minute, but from the perron went
straight into the premier salon. There his friends were
assembled in full chat. The intendant was about to order
supper to be served, but, above all, the Abbe Fouquet
watched for the return of his brother, and was endeavoring
to do the honors of the house in his absence. Upon the
arrival of the superintendent, a murmur of joy and affection
was heard; Fouquet, full of affability, good humor, and
munificence, was beloved by his poets, his artists, and his
men of business. His brow, upon which his little court read,
as upon that of a god, all the movements of his soul, and
thence drew rules of conduct, -- his brow, upon which
affairs of state never impressed a wrinkle, was this evening
paler than usual, and more than one friendly eye remarked
that pallor. Fouquet placed himself at the head of the
table, and presided gayly during supper. He recounted
Vatel's expedition to La Fontaine, related the history of
Menneville and the skinny fowl to Pellisson, in such a
manner that all the table heard it. A tempest of laughter
and jokes ensued, which was only checked by a serious and
even sad gesture from Pellisson. The Abbe Fouquet, not being
able to comprehend why his brother should have led the
conversation in that direction, listened with all his ears,
and sought in the countenance of Gourville, or in that of
his brother, an explanation which nothing afforded him.
Pellisson took up the matter: -- "Did they mention M.
Colbert, then?" said he.
"Why not?" replied Fouquet; "if true, as it is said to be,
that the king has made him his intendant?" Scarcely had
Fouquet uttered these words, with a marked intention, than
an explosion broke forth among the guests.
"The miser!" said one.
"The mean, pitiful fellow!" said another.
"The hypocrite!" said a third.
Pellisson exchanged a meaning look with Fouquet.
"Messieurs," said he, "in truth we are abusing a man whom no
one knows: it is neither charitable nor reasonable; and here
is monsieur le surintendant, who, I am sure, agrees with
me."
"Entirely," replied Fouquet. "Let the fat fowls of M.
Colbert alone; our business to-day is with the faisans
truffes of M. Vatel." This speech stopped the dark cloud
which was beginning to throw its shade over the guests.
Gourville succeeded so well in animating the poets with the
vin de Joigny; the abbe, intelligent as a man who stands in
need of his host's money, so enlivened the financiers and
the men of the sword, that, amidst the vapors of this joy
and the noise of conversation, inquietudes disappeared
completely. The will of Cardinal Mazarin was the text of the
conversation at the second course and dessert; then Fouquet
ordered bowls of sweetmeats and fountains of liquors to be
carried into the salon adjoining the gallery. He led the way
thither conducting by the hand a lady, the queen, by his
preference, of the evening. The musicians then supped, and
the promenades in the gallery and the gardens commenced,
beneath a spring sky, mild and flower-scented. Pellisson
then approached the superintendent, and said: "Something
troubles monseigneur?"
"Greatly," replied the minister, "ask Gourville to tell you
what it is." Pellisson, on turning round, found La Fontaine
treading upon his heels. He was obliged to listen to a Latin
verse, which the poet had composed upon Vatel. La Fontaine
had, for an hour, been scanning this verse in all corners,
seeking some one to pour it out upon advantageously. He
thought he had caught Pellisson, but the latter escaped him;
he turned towards Sorel, who had, himself, just composed a
quatrain in honor of the supper, and the Amphytrion. La
Fontaine in vain endeavored to gain attention to his verses;
Sorel wanted to obtain a hearing for his quatrain. He was
obliged to retreat before M. le Comte de Chanost whose arm
Fouquet had just taken. L'Abbe Fouquet perceived that the
poet, absent-minded, as usual, was about to follow the two
talkers, and he interposed. La Fontaine seized upon him, and
recited his verses. The abbe, who was quite innocent of
Latin, nodded his head, in cadence, at every roll which La
Fontaine impressed upon his body, according to the
undulations of the dactyls and spondees. While this was
going on, behind the confiture-basins, Fouquet related the
event of the day to his son-in-law, M. de Chanost. "We will
send the idle and useless to look at the fireworks," said
Pellisson to Gourville, "whilst we converse here."
"So be it," said Gourville, addressing four words to Vatel.
The latter then led towards the gardens the major part of
the beaux, the ladies and the chatterers, whilst the men
walked in the gallery, lighted by three hundred wax-lights,
in the sight of all; the admirers of fireworks all ran away
towards the garden. Gourville approached Fouquet, and said:
"Monsieur, we are here."
"All!" said Fouquet.
"Yes, -- count." The superintendent counted; there were
eight persons. Pellisson and Gourville walked arm in arm, as
if conversing upon vague and frivolous subjects. Sorel and
two officers imitated them, in an opposite direction. The
Abbe Fouquet walked alone. Fouquet, with M. de Chanost,
walked as if entirely absorbed in the conversation of his
son-in-law. "Messieurs," said he, "let no one of you raise
his head as he walks, or appear to pay attention to me;
continue walking, we are alone, listen to me."
A perfect silence ensued, disturbed only by the distant
cries of the joyous guests, from the groves whence they
beheld the fireworks. It was a whimsical spectacle this, of
these men walking in groups, as if each one was occupied
about something, whilst lending attention really to only one
amongst them, who, himself, seemed to be speaking only to
his companion. "Messieurs," said Fouquet, "you have, without
doubt, remarked the absence of two of my friends this
evening, who were with us on Wednesday. For God's sake,
abbe, do not stop, -- it is not necessary to enable you to
listen; walk on, carrying your head in a natural way, and as
you have an excellent sight, place yourself at the window,
and if any one returns towards the gallery, give us notice
by coughing."
The abbe obeyed.
"I have not observed their absence," said Pellisson, who, at
this moment, was turning his back to Fouquet and walking the
other way.
"I do not see M. Lyodot," said Sorel, "who pays me my
pension."
"And I," said the abbe, at the window, "do not see M.
d'Eymeris, who owes me eleven hundred livres from our last
game at Brelan."
"Sorel," continued Fouquet, walking bent, and gloomily, "you
will never receive your pension any more from M. Lyodot; and
you, abbe, will never be paid your eleven hundred livres by
M. d'Eymeris, for both are doomed to die."
"To die!" exclaimed the whole assembly, arrested, in spite
of themselves, in the comedy they were playing, by that
terrible word.
"Recover yourselves, messieurs," said Fouquet, "for perhaps
we are watched -- I said: to die!"
"To die!" repeated Pellisson; "what, the men I saw six days
ago, full of health, gayety, and the spirit of the future!
What then is man, good God! 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; they 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 fusees 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 Pellisson, "you must speak to his
majesty."
"The king, my dear Pellisson, himself signed the order for
the execution."
"Well!" said the Comte de Chanost, "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 Pellisson, "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 Pellisson. "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, Pellisson," said Fouquet, "and bring
hither the two victims; to-morrow we shall see."
Gourville gave Pellisson 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. Pellisson and Gourville went out together
by the door of the gallery; Fouquet descended to the garden
with the five last plotters.
